


Thicker than Blood

by Muspell



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Light Angst, M/M, Rating May Change, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell
Summary: Yuri decides to take a trip to Almaty without letting his friend know. Someone else shows up.It turns out Otabek's circle is much greater than Yuri had anticipated. It turns out there was a lot Yuri didn't know a bout his best friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm back!! and this one, sadly, is far from over so it might take a while to update.  
> For those who had to suffer through my previous works: this is much more light hearted and easy on you, but I don't have the amount of free time I used to, so there's that. sorry about that.  
> As always, My lovely Elliot and now a new editor, SilentSnow92, have been more than patient with me and helped me a lot, so thank you <3
> 
> and yeah, back to what brought us here. Enjoy

“Are you serious?”

Yuri was jumping up and down out of excitement in the middle of Lilia’s living room. He’d gotten himself his own place as soon as he turned eighteen, but he still felt the need to check with his trainers before any major decisions.

Like his newfound holiday destination, for example. Japan was nice and all, but it was getting too close and too familiar - not that he has a problem with Yuuri’s family, but the idea of vacations was for him to be left alone when he needs to be. That never happens in Hasetsu.

And he could use the change. Especially when, after Yuri’s recent breakup, Otabek had sent him his usual care package with a tiny box inside. Almost like a ring box, but there was no jewelry in it.

Just a set of keys. _You’re always welcome by my side_ , the little note inside read, tied with a string to the keyring. It even had a little tiger plush doll hanging from it. Otabek could be a real sap when he wanted. Funny how that guy had never been snapped up by someone.

“But you’ll have to wait until after the season. And you’ll have to behave: you’re an international figure, you can’t just-” Yakov started his usual rant; he did the same every year, but this time he seems a bit more concerned than before. Even when Viktor isn’t the greatest role model, he’s in someway safe. This would be Yuri’s first vacation on his own, completely. No Mila, no Viktor and Yuuri; no one looking over their shoulder at him, keeping him in place. And he gets to spend it with his best friend, no less!

How cool is that?!

“The boy knows, he’s almost nineteen. He’ll be fine.” Lilia cuts her ex-husband short, sipping her tea calmly. “And he'll be ready for practice as soon as he gets back. Won’t you, Yuri?”

“Yes! Yes, of course!” He can barely hide his excitement. He’s going to Almaty for the first time. He’s gonna see Otabek’s place, he’s gonna meet Otabek’s friends.

He can’t fucking wait.

* * *

 

Yuri sets his laptop on his lap while slouching on his unmade bed, before calling Otabek. It’s barely past six o’clock; his friend should be at home doing whatever already. Yuri has called him at odd hours before but Otabek always seems to be available for him, even sleepy and yawning between every word. He still tries not to unless it's an emergency,  like what happened with Sasha. ‘You just don't give a fuck about me.’ Well, fuck that, Yuri was in love with the guy; he just can't tolerate people making him choose between them and the ice. The ice would always win.

Otabek answers the call with a quick wave from a hand holding a beer bottle. Yuri’s almost positive Otabek’s in his room, despite the poor lightning, wearing that tattered long sleeved shirt from an obscure horror movie he loves too much to throw away. Yuri makes a mental note to throw that piece of trash away as soon as he steps into the apartment. “Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?” He mockingly asks, trying to sound as close to Lilia’s voice as possible. There’s nothing as scary as Lilia’s tone when she gets mad.

“For you it is. So don’t.” Otabek replies simply, gulping the beer in one go and setting the bottle out of sight from the camera. It’s not that hard to do, since he’s sitting on the floor. He always is: he rather leave his laptop on the bed and sit cross-legged on the floor instead of getting an actual desk. Yuri can’t decide if he’s lazy, cheap, or both.

He always decides for lazy, though, considering the amount of stupid shit he buys for his sister and the things he sends Yuri. He has a silver tiger bracelet, for fuck’s sake. That shit looks expensive and Yuri has worn it only a handful of times. It’s too pretty to just use it randomly.

Truth be told, Otabek said his sister chose it, but still. It was a bit much. Yuri felt the need to find some cool vinyl record to send him for the trouble.

“Well, fuck you too. I’m gonna get myself a drink just for that comment.” Yuri scoffs and Otabek chuckles. It’s breathtaking how easily he can go from his usual frown to such a lighthearted expression. The boy brushes his hair back and looks away, probably out of embarrassment. He feels oddly shy when in front of the camera.

“Could you wait until afterwards though?” Otabek leans back on his hands, his lips twisting in a barely noticeable smile in the dark. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?” Yuri smirks at him. He won’t tell him about the vacation plans. It’ll be much more fun to just use the keys given to him and show up. He’s got the address from their constant mailing of boxes filled with stupid shit. Fuck, Yuri got him a handmade teddy bear wearing a leather jacket and combat boots just because.

“Just… To talk. I missed you.” Otabek shrugs and runs a hand through his hair to brush it out of his eyes. It’s long enough to be tied back at this point, his undercut overgrown. He’s been too focused on Worlds. Yuri can see that in the tiredness of his eyes. He probably hasn’t been sleeping enough, either; Otabek is prone to nervous insomnia after all. He knows Yuri isn’t so he texts Yuri silly stuff he finds online for him to read when he wakes up. One time Yuri woke up to a silly six second video of a cat freaking out because it’s paw touched water while he was drinking it. But the soundtrack of it was amazing; that much he has to admit.

“It’s getting longer.” Yuri can’t stop staring at the hand threading through Otabek’s hair. Otabek is clearly not used to it by the way he keeps toying with it. It must be as long as Yuri’s when they first met. He must have been letting it grow longer on purpose.

“Yeah, and sloppy.” Otabek reaches to the sides of his undercut to tug at his hair. “I should cut it. I just…” He sighs as his hand falls on his lap. “I’ve barely had time to breathe.”

“And to drink.” Yuri adds with a tilt of his head, gesturing at the side Otabek had abandoned the bottle before. “Worlds kicking your ass?” He tries to sound smug but truth be told, he’s fucking bashed as well. Even with Yuuri and Viktor out of the way, competition is tough. JJ is going all or nothing, getting as many technical points as he can; he and Nekola are hard ones to beat in that aspect. De la Iglesia wins the hearts of the crowd with his original pieces, music and choreography alike. Minami is jumping up places quickly; his perky demeanor feels like a whiff of fresh air in between the harsher, classical pieces. But Otabek… well, he’s something, alright. No one ever knows what to expect of him; he’s one to blow people’s minds over and over. He even included flips in his exhibition skate this season! You could hear a pin drop in the bleachers. The guy is amazing, yes, but Yuri has a few of his own tricks up his sleeve. They might be friends but they’re also rivals; they’re in the game for the win. “Watch it, or I might be next.”

“You have no idea what I have in store for you, Yuri. Behave.” Otabek quirks a brow at him, that shit eating little side smile of his curving his lips.

Yuri’s room seems to have gotten ten degrees hotter suddenly; he scoffs playfully, trying to hide the deep blush crawling up to his ears. “Think you can keep up with me?” He replies, biting his lip. Lately everything he says sounds like flirting, but it’s a game Otabek likes to play as well. He can’t figure out how it started but they’re here now, and they’re both too stubborn to step down.

Or at least that’s what Yuri thinks when Otabek follows his lead every time. “I have my skills, Yura.” He says as he tilts his head down, keeping his gaze on Yuri as he runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth. He then chuckles and looks away, trying to break the tension in between them. “I should go to bed. Just wanted to know how you were.”

“Dying, pretty much.” Yuri shakes his hair out of his eyes. It soothes him, the sensation of fingernails against his scalp, and his long blond hair looks badass like that. It became a habit of his. “Can’t feel my fucking legs.”

“Same, man.” Otabek laughs. “Inzhu says my feet are the worst gore movie she’s ever seen.” Yuri has to cackle at that; he has only seen pictures of the girl, but Otabek’s sister sounds witty and funny as hell. He’d love to meet her one day. “And we’ve seen our share.”

“Gross.”

“You haven’t seen them. You have no idea.” Otabek adds. Yuri starts laughing so hard he has to hold the laptop in place in order for the image to stop moving. “Any ideas on what you’re gonna do for your birthday?”

“Work?” Yuri answers with a grin, brushing a tear off his lashes. “I’ll get some days free after Worlds, I’ll figure out what to do then.” _Maybe even see you._   

“Good. You deserve the time off.” Otabek smiles and Yuri feels like his heart skip a beat. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I’m exhausted.”

“Sure, yeah, of fucking course. See ya.” Yuri stumbles with his words. He’s been keeping Otabek awake the one day he could probably get his eight hours of sleep; he should’ve shut up a while ago. “Text me whatever if you need, okay?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be good tonight.” Otabek yawns into his hand. “Thanks, though.” He waves goodbye and shuts off the call.

Yuri is left alone with his own reflection on the screen as he turns his laptop off.

He’ll have a whole week to spend at Almaty near Otabek. His life, his friends, his house. His bed. A whole week of watching those little smirks, or getting suggestive phrases after every comment. A whole week of Otabek showing up barely dressed and with a bedhead, hardly awake, as he does on lazy Sunday calls. But in real life.

Yuri can’t tell if he’ll survive all of that. Fuck, it’s been a, what, fifteen minute call? And his body is already begging him to give in. What will happen in a month doesn’t matter: he doesn’t have the strength _right now_ to resist his friend’s games. He doesn’t know what the rules are but he’s sure of one thing.

Yuri is clearly losing.

* * *

 

Yuri spits out the water he was drinking and sputters as he stares at his phone. He feels his heart bouncing against his ribcage like it was trying to break through, a dark flush coloring his cheeks. From choking on his water, of course, not because of the picture that suddenly appeared on his Instagram. From Otabek’s public account, no less.

He’s posting silly, everyday things  on his personal account on and off: his neighbour pets, the guys at the ice rink, his sister dancing randomly around the house… She used to be an awarded belly dancer before she decided to quit and became a hairdresser, so the habit of dancing around seems to have stayed with her. Apparently she’s also _the_ hairdresser that keeps Otabek’s undercut neat.

The hairdresser that has just posted a picture of Otabek sitting with his elbows on the dining table, his hair down to a side, barely brushing against his cheekbone, one brow raised and the tiniest trace of a smirk hiding behind the hand under his chin. Yuri can tell when Otabek is hiding a smile; at this point Yuri can tell a lot of things about him.

Like the fact that that picture and the whole post isn’t as innocent as it claims to be with its caption. _He wants me to cut it T.T #tellhimhelooksgood #sisspeaks._ If that expression means anything, it’s that he’s clearly aware of what she was about to do.  

Especially when all throughout his comment section there are loads of fans gushing about how hot he looks with his hair down. And even then, he doesn’t answer one single comment. Yuri himself replies to the ones that impress him; some of those people can get really creative.

What’s the point then, to make Yuri gasp for air and cover his face with his bangs to hide the blush on his cheeks? He starts typing on the little white box and erases it. Types again. Closes the window and blocks his phone, throwing it furiously into the duffle bag at his side.

Fuck.

“Hey Yurio! You look flustered, are you alright?” Viktor rapidly asks, coming over and putting a hand on his forehead. It’s wet for some reason. Yuri curses the day Yakov allowed the old moron into the rink back again. “Weird, you don’t feel warm-”

“What the hell are you doing?” Yuri hisses, shifting away from the man as he gets up from the bench he’s sitting on. His training for today is over, anyways, and he needs to get home. And have a good shower. A long freezing cold one. “I’m fine, geezer, let me be.”

“Sorry, you just looked red, like you might have a fever but-” Viktor absentmindedly touches his own forehead to check on his temperature. “You’re good.”

“Tch, piss off.” Yuri throws his duffle bag over his shoulder as he walks away, faking a confidence he does not have right now. How dare he post such a picture? Since when does he post personal things on his public Instagram? Not that it’s particularly intimate, but that’s probably the first time he let people see a blurred bit of his own kitchen in the background- all of his public photos are professional: airports, ice rinks, the moment before a press conference on a carpeted hallway. Not this: not the domesticity of an abandoned glass right at the side, the silhouette of the trimmer, opaque by the faint afternoon light. It comes in from the window only to make Otabek’s features softer, his tanned skin putting the damn sunset itself to shame. Otabek knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was going to achieve with that photo.

If only Yuri could understand what the riot bubbling inside of him everytime he thinks about Otabek’s little smirk was. The one he only gives to Yuri when they’re toying around, playing with limits. Those little games Yuri can’t see the point of, and yet he can’t stop giving in to.

He shuffles with his keys but finally opens the front door of his building only to lean on a wall to look for his cellphone. Just one little thing. One harmless sentence.

_Long hair looks good on you_

How bad can it go?


	2. Chapter 2

Worlds comes and goes like a damn kidney stone. Yuri scored high, sure, he always does, but he didn’t have the chance to change the theme or the music after his break up and every twist, every figure reminded him of Sasha. He misstepped half the jumps, lost the tempo, all at once. Fuck, he almost fell ass flat on the ice like Katsudon used to: that was one bruise he couldn't have healed in time. The press named it a twisted ligament, apparently, so he followed them. It’s better that way; let them not know Yuri Plisetsky is a little bitch crying over a man who dumped him. He won’t ever admit such a thing. Not to anyone. 

Except him.

Otabek stands proudly on the ice, the Silver medal around his neck and the Kazakh flag proudly unfolded in front of him. Fucking JJ snatched his -their- gold this time with an impressive choreography. He even beat his own high score! Not that Yuri is impressed: he’s only seething while watching the asshole gloating as he takes the gold to his lips because he knows he won’t get a chance for revenge. Leroy has already announced his retirement in order to take care of the child he and Isabella have on their way. Yuri defeated him before, sure, but he can’t forgive himself letting JJ take the gold in his last round. The fucker wasn’t meant to win the war. 

Yuri huffs and turns to the deep brown eyes suddenly staring at him, as if they were looking for some sort of approval. Yuri only grins and gives Otabek a thumbs up:  he barely smiles but lifts up his chin and straightens his back. He’s proud. He should be. Fuck JJ, the overachiever, the son of champions: Otabek is the real winner. He’s the real hero. Yuri will show him that much. 

The question is how. He knows what’s coming next: press conference, sponsors, and looking nice and decent, which Otabek can do with his eyes closed, much unlike Yuri. He could hold the facade for maybe half an hour before Yakov politely had to ask him to go rest, just in case he snapped at the stupid questions. He was merchandise for them and nothing more. So will Otabek be in their eyes. He can’t save Otabek but there’s something he can still do.

He can wait for him with some of the creepy movies he likes and some candy. Otabek isn’t too fond of chocolate but has a lifelong obsession with sweets his coach tries hard enough to bury. 

It seems like it’ll be an afternoon of walking around by himself until he can get his friend again. Exactly as he is, not as the cameras see him. His Otabek always smiling, and toasting with OJ cartons on a skype call, and hiding snickers in a frozen peas bag in his freezer just in case his coach comes by. Or worse, his sister.

It seems like Yuri will just have to wait. He sends the quickest congratulations over text before tugging the sides on his jacket closer to him. There was a fair somewhere near, wasn’t it?

* * *

 

Yuri nurses an already lukewarm glass in his hand at the corner of the banquet hall.  Sure, it was noisy enough with Viktor and his husband were around, and Giacometti knew how to make an epic disaster out of a carefully planned formal meeting, but he still misses them. Not that he doesn’t get along just fine with other skaters, it’s just that he’s not interested in making friends with any. Other friends, of course: he has Mila and Otabek and that’s good enough.

The thing is, you realize two are maybe not that many when both are kept far away from you. 

Mila didn’t make the cut: she had a bad fall at the beginning of the season and Yakov made her step out of the competition. Yuri could use a joke or two from her right now, even when they’re mostly directed at him. At least they feel a little more substantial than this white noise of reporters and pats on the back from colleagues all around. He didn’t get onto the podium for the first time in his Senior career; he’s not fucking dying.

It still feels a bit like it. 

He takes a long sip of the champagne in his hand and fails to hide the twist of disgust of his mouth. He was never a fan of the drink, but at room temperature it tastes like bubbly warm piss. Bad idea. He shots a look at Otabek who almost immediately looks back past the wall of wealthy bastards in suits and smiles. Small, subtle, but very much there. He’s happy, he should be, but Yuri hasn’t gotten the opportunity to celebrate yet and it has to be his turn at some point. Yuri figures some fresh air won’t hurt: he abandons the glass on the first table in his path as he heads to the terrace. Paris gets chilly this time of year, and rainy as hell. Tonight the clouds have shuffled enough for Yuri to see the stars above him, elbow on the railing and his mind far away. He wanted to take Sasha here, he was planning it before…

Well. Shit happens. He just thought it would be romantic enough. Cliched, really, now that he thinks about it. Viktor’s nonsense must have been rubbing off on him. Still, there’s something lingering in the air, a void surrounding him, swallowing the racket at his back. He’s completely alone, nothing but him and the dark, and the bright full moon shining high above him, as in mockery. He thought he’d have someone to celebrate tonight with, something to celebrate. But one by one, they have pushed him aside. Love, health… Awards. 

Life’s a bitch. It’s out to get Yuri and he knows he’s letting it win. But then, what else can he do? Go inside and drag Otabek away just because he’s feeling lonely? That’s moronic. And childish. 

He still would. In a heartbeat.

“Bored already?” Low and clear as glass, Otabek’s voice resonates on Yuri’s ears. He smiles to himself without turning: he can see from the corner of his eye Otabek has leaned on the railing, imitating his stance, an empty glass dangling from his fingers. It’s almost as if Otabek could read Yuri’s mind or something. He always shows up when Yuri needs him the most. “You’ve been here for a while.”

“Of course. You’ve  _ abandoned me.” _ Yuri replies in a  heartbroken tone. He twists his mouth in disgust and lifts his chin up, in a gesture Lilia used to do when Yuri screwed up in practice. “For them. Reporters.” He huffs.

“You’ve been there how many times already, exactly?” Otabek chuckles, “Don’t be such a sore loser, Plisetsky. You’re a pretty bad winner as it is.” 

“Excuse you, Mister ‘I throw a huge party every time I get into the GPF which is basically every year’.” Yuri snaps at him, offended. Otabek has made an habit of DJing after every major competition he gets in, no matter his actual scores. According to him, it’s an excuse to play in every city he can: it’s near impossible for him to take a day off during the season so he does it afterwards. And, surprisingly for a guy with no intentions of connecting with people, he has friends everywhere. All kinds of friends. Yuri had to stop himself not to run off when he was introduced to some: they can be quite a lot to process. Might be for the tattooed faces, or the piercings and implants, or the bike and the fracture boot. Or just the simple 20 kilograms above him, a good feet higher and constant glaring combination. In any way, they always end up riding through some motorway at night, aching all over from the exhausting day and still laughing out loud like maniacs, happy as they could ever be. Yuri’s not complaining, after all. “I don’t pull freaks out of every corner of the Earth to get fucked up after every medal I get.” 

“Well…”  Otabek starts, the smile gone from his lips but still dancing in the gleam of his eyes.  “you  _ do _ text pretty much every skater that has ever competed against you to gloat. “ he laughs and Yuri plays offended in order not to let out how much he missed that sound.  “I like my way better, if you don't mind. “

“You would too if you had the guts.” Yuri huffs, muffling the cackle. He knows Otabek can be much more arrogant than he is when he gets the chance. Yuri isn't easily fooled by the Prince Charming facade he puts on for the press. “Where do you even take that kind of people from, anyways?” 

It's a complete mystery, how the most reserved of skaters happens to have not only the weirdest friends ever, but also  _ lots of them. _ In every corner of the world. So much for the lone wolf story his fans try to sell; if they only knew.

Otabek laughs and suddenly the night didn't feel as freezing cold. “I have a magnet for freaks, apparently- one just rides around Barcelona and suddenly stumbles upon this hell spawn-”

He gets interrupted by a first connecting with his arm in a playful blow. “Well, fuck you too.” Yuri hisses but can't stop the smile from spreading across his face. The laughter that follows. 

“Are you okay, Yura?” Otabek takes his time to ask in order to catch his breath. Yuri blows a wandering blond lock of his eyes, trying to find the right words. The ones that sound true even though he knows it's all bullshit and Otabek would never be stupid enough to believe it. “Don't lie to me. I know you faked the limp.” And that he did, to make up an excuse for his terrible execution. He's better, much better than this. Much better than a fifth place. Much better than a breakup. Much better than a childish dream date that never happened, than a dream life that never will. He let himself drag this delusion for too long; he was being a kid. A naive child with a whim. He should have known how it all was gonna end, how it always does. Still, he says nothing. He doesn't dare push Otabek away, not when he's the only one still there for Yuri. Not that the guys at home agent nice to him but they don't know him like Otabek does. They can't read him as clear. Otabek decides to answer for him.”You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but don't lie to me. I understand.”

“I don't want to.” Yuri breaths out in a whisper and Otabek turns to him for only a second. He doesn't need more than that to get it. Yuri wishes he doesn't, wishes he could just bury everything down, enjoy the night and the party. Fuck Sasha, and all before him and everyone that comes after who can't value Yuri's worth. He stumbles upon a thousand and one positivity bullshit posts on every social media and they always felt hollow; tonight it feels they're made to mock him. Don't be like this and you'll be happy. Don't be determined to salvage lost causes. Don't be hopeful. Don't love. 

He needs to talk but can't find his way around it; Otabek must be pretty tired of hearing about it at this point anyways. He can read right through Yuri still, no matter how he tries to hide his sorrow through a cardboard grin. “Then you should celebrate with me.” Otabek snaps suddenly, decided. “You're my best friend. I demand it.” 

“Woah.” To be honest, that sort of attitude on Otabek is rare; he usually at least bothers asking and, as much as Yuri has missed him, he feels drained and aching all over. He still knows he didn't even get one bruise on the ice, there's are no marks on the outside that could explain the sharp pain. “Get off your high horse, man.” 

Otabek barely smiles at the joke, instead he offers his hand to Yuri, his gaze glistening with a light much more authentic than that of alcohol. He's just happy. Who wouldn't in his place? “I have a better idea, why don't you come up with me?”

“What?”

“Wanna ride?” 

Yuri smiles to himself. He  _ could _ kick himself in his room and mourn a shitstorm of a day away. Or he could actually enjoy himself and spend time with the one that always seems to understand him. 

He doesn't need to think it twice. He takes Otabek’s hand in a heartbeat.


	3. Chapter 3

The lights feel like throbbing against his temple. Yuri wakes up to a curling Otabek practically climbed onto his chest, slightly snoring and completely still. Dead still, Yuri notices as he brushes off the locks falling onto Otabek's forehead and there's not even a stir. It's adorable, he sleeps like a rock and looks completely relaxed for once. Or it would be adorable if it wasn't because he feels like a lead brick onto Yuri's lungs and refuses to move. Yuri wiggles but he can't break free.

He can't remember quite how they've gotten there. They were visiting every lover's spot to shout at the skies and curse their luck. They crossed the Seine River to laugh their hearts out over former partners and dreams that never were. It felt like a cleanse, as if Yuri would have thrown the weight within his chest at the dark waters like a pebble and watch it sink, his hand on Otabek and his mind sure for once. Nothing feels like home like Otabek does. 

But that's pretty much what he remembers. He was falling asleep on the way back and they had to stop a few times in order for him not to fall off the bike. Suddenly he opens his eyes and is cradling Otabek against his chest. “Hey.” He starts but there's no response; he'd be checking for pulse if it wasn't because he can feel the warm breath on his bare skin. 

Bare. When the hell did he take off his shirt? He lifts up his head as best he can to make sure he's somehow dressed. He's definitely in his underwear; that's reassuring. And socks. Since when does he sleep in his socks? No matter the weather, that's fucking lame. He's Russian, for fuck’s sake. 

Otabek's shirt is rolled up and the covers tangled around their legs, showing off the tattoo on his back. He did it ages ago, after his first gold: a landscape of the Almaty mountains with an eagle flying over the peak. Perfectly located over his spine so any shirt -any costume- could cover it. Yuri traces the edges of the feathers with the tip of his fingers absentmindedly; there's the stirring. Otabek whines and settles back over Yuri. “No, come on. I need to breathe, man.” Yuri complains but no matter how much he tries to push Otabek away the guy's clung to him like a koala. 

That's when he gets the idea. There are only a few people in the world who won't jump away when they're caressed slowly and delicately along the curve of their waist. He can't remember if Otabek is ticklish or not but he can perfectly well take his chances. He lets his fingers follow the line of his back to the underside of his ribs, listening carefully to the subtle change on his breathing. Otabek protests  and shrugs Yuri off before turning to the opposite side. Showing Yuri his unprotected back. Bad choice: Yuri can feel his tongue dancing around the edge of his teeth, like a tiger already feeling the prey in between its jaws. He approaches Otabek slowly, careful not to wake him up for good, and straddles him. The warmth of their bodies together clash even so harmoniously against the chill in their -Otabek's, maybe?- hotel room; Yuri can feel his skin prickling, testing to Otabek's shift underneath him. Yuri has his whole back to play with.

It's now or never. 

Yuri brushes his fingers rapidly against Otabek's waist and braces himself firm on the mattress as Otabek bucks under him and lets out a little yelp that becomes a barely repressed giggle. “What are-” Otabek starts but gets cut short by his own laughter. “Get o-off me Yura!” He tries again but it only encourages Yuri further, as he folds into himself and presses his face onto the pillow. 

Yuri is relentless. He feels powerful, towering over an unquiet Otabek who can't manage to break free. He feels big, for once that day.

Until he isn't. Until Otabek takes him by his thigh in one swift motion and pins him to the bed, Yuri's legs perched over his hipbones. 

Yuri can't find his own voice, in between the giggling from before and the vision that is before him: Otabek holding his legs apart in a bedhead and barely dressed with the tightest gym pants in existence. In fact Yuri could swear those weren't so stretched out before, at least not around the crotch area as they are now. Not that he's ogling his friend's attributes: he's not a shameless flirt like Giacometti, not even close. He waits for Otabek to break the silence but the guy only laughs the remnants of Yuri's doing, leaning on the crook of Yuri's neck. 

“You’re an idiot.” Otabek finally murmurs into Yuri's ear. He sits up -he's so close Yuri swallows hard at every little flinch. Who would have known one needs to move so many muscles in order to just sit up?- “you're not allowed to do that. Ever.” He finishes, grinning like a kid. His anger is hardly believable. 

Even so, it’s almost familiar. From the silly jokes and taunts done over Skype more than once. “Yeah, or you'll do what? Be the big guy and hold me down?” Yuri mocks but his voice is barely a thread of what it uses to be, loud and defiant. He grits his teeth for good measure, only for Otabek not to recognize the hunger in his eyes. 

Good thing Otabek is still too sleepy to notice. “Do I have to remind you, Yura, that you're bigger than me already?” his dark gaze fixed on Yuri feels like bright red coals burning through his skin. Yuri prefers focusing on that and not the pressure of Otabek's body against his. 

If it only were that easy. “Well, I beg to differ.” Yuri adds without even noticing. His brain must have finally short-circuited and forgot all about common fucking sense. He regrets it immediately, as Otabek only chuckles and looks away. Come on. He took Otabek by surprise, sure, but they've said bolder things to each other before. Through a webcam, but still. What's with this sudden shyness?

“your phone's ringing.” Otabek answers simply. Nice moves, Altin. This is why Yuri doesn't flirt: it works only to leave an awkward silence and a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. 

But his mouth is always faster than his head, and the words come out before he can stop them.”really? Is that all you've got?” He would have sworn to Otabek he's not as terribly offended as he sounds buy Otabek doesn't seem to notice anyways.

He straightens his back, his eyes glued to the phone still in the leather jacket pocket, buzzing like there's no tomorrow. Somehow Yuri feels Otabek's erection pressed harder against him, the hand on his right clutching him tight. He didn't have the strength to protest. “Did you tell anyone we were getting back to the hotel together last night?”

Well, what kind of question is that? Yuri doesn't even know how he ended up curled against his best friend; the last thing he remembers is the bike vibrating in between his legs and the wind like a small to the face, forcing him back into the world where Otabek is always there for him. He's positive there weren't that many glasses of champagne but truth be told, he can't even tell how much time the banquet lasted for them. He knows they snuck out alone and without a single warning to anyone. But that's it. “No? I don't know? I can't tell what we even  _ do _ last night. what the fuck are you asking me?” Yuri snaps back, but remembers one clear detail. In every loose image he can recollect in his mind, he can't see his phone. It why it's not around  _ his _ belongings right now. “Do you mind telling me why you have my phone?” 

“I took it from you: you wanted to throw it into the Seine because it was an instrument of the devil.” Otabek pauses after Yuri snorts a poorly muffled cackle. “You  _ did. _ You said all those happy lovers surely have nothing like it.” Yuri can't decide on whether that's hilarious or completely humiliating. He takes a stance on both. “You let me take it only when I told you I wouldn't be able to call you anymore if you threw it away.”

Fuck, that does sound like Yuri. But like something he say out loud but he's told Otabek a good number of things he didn't discuss with anyone else: it's not entirely impossible. Still, Yuri smirks and plays tough, just in case. “You're making me sound like the cheesy fuck  _ you _ are. That's cheating.” 

“You like me enough not to throw away your, what, fifth phone this year? I was touched.” Otabek mocks, a hand over his heart to make his point. 

“You're an idiot.” Yuri resolves, too light minded to figure out a better counter blow. “And getting ideas, I reckon.” He finishes with a sway of his hips and Otabek swallows hard, gripping Yuri's leg as if it was a lifeline. 

“I just woke up. Don't flatter yourself.” Otabek answers in the least convincing tone Yuri has ever heard on him. And he's seen Otabek lying badly at his coach in order to cheat on his diet. It's embarrassingly obvious. It still pushes Otabek off him in a second. “I'm getting a shower. You should get ready for breakfast too. You'll end up in a silver platter if those missed calls are anything to go by.”

Yuri shivers as he sits up on his elbows. Yakov will have his head the minute he sees Yuri. Lilia won't allow his ex husband to cancel Yuri's plans but she won't stop him from leaving Yuri deaf from all the bitching. He groans, a hand shoved into his boxers around the ghost of Otabek's warmth. He can see his epitaph already. _ Yuri Plisetsky, King of Blue Balls, yelled to death at age eighteen for not screwing around.  _

Otabek's right. He should get ready. There's a Maelstrom waiting for him just a few floors bellow. He takes a sheep breath before getting to look for the rest of his clothes.

* * *

 

 

The plane lifting off feels symbolic: at least Yuri has hit rock bottom. There's nowhere to go but up from here. He's been kicked off the podium for the first time, had to lie about a non existent injury to get the press off his back and was just yelled at at breakfast as if he was a child. Mind him, Yakov took him out of the dining hall but he was being loud enough to make heads turn to them. If he had any dignity left it had flown out the window when Yakov fucking  _ announced _ he was sleeping with Beka. There's no way that won't translate into Angels’ blogs filled with crazy stories about how they started dating and how one of them proposed already. Viktor has raised hell for any skating couple: to the fans, either they have to show a ring or one of them is cheating.

Yuri wonders who the cheater would be in the Angels’ stories. Yuri is untouchable to them but he's the one who has known partners. Otabek has been screwing around a lot more but he's much more secretive: he hasn't even put a picture of his latest and not stable catch yet on his private accounts. He only knows about him because Otabek himself told him. Yuri believes the exact words were “I think I'm befriending my booty call and it feels weird”. 

Yuri laughed then. No one could get as close as him anyways; you just can't fuck your way into a friendship like theirs. They didn't just get used to being around each other. They  _ connect _ . It's special.

Yuri huffs and drops his head hardly on the back of the seat. He'd better get some sleep; he'll need it when he gets home. He'll have to explain how he sabotaged his own career out of heartache. As if he was fucking Georgi. He's better than this; why can't he just get over it?

How come one guy can fuck him up so bad he feels tiny, shrinking into the plane seat as he closes his eyes to force his mind quiet? How come he feels like a blob of black on a rained on wall, a mere footprint of what he was, completely unrecognizable? 

How come only Otabek seems to be able to take his old self back from underneath the sorrow?

How come the asshole still lives so far off?

Yuri sighs as the stewardesses start the announcements. Well, he won't be sleeping soon, so he could at least take advantage of the one nice memory he has of the journey. The message won't get sent until they land, anyways; he has plenty of time to take it back.

_ You deserved every bit of attention. Congratulations.  _

He types and winces: it feels so good, so carefully calculated. He's never spoken to Otabek like that, so why is he doing it now? What is he didn't suddenly afraid of? He wouldn't walk away from Yuri. Yuri  _ knows _ it. Fuck, he had the chance and decided to come looking for Yuri. 

Yuri deletes the message altogether. Takes a deep breath and types again, almost with his eyes closed. He has the words tried under his eyelids anyways; the are things not the worst darkness can erase from his mind.

_ Even through defeat and all, what I regret the most it's not having the chance to spend more time with you.  _

This time he feels a time on the it if his stomach, the faint chill on his spine before a storm unravels. It's a bit too mushy, isn't it? There must be a way of giving it somehow. Make it sound more Yuri like. 

_ Enjoy it while it lasts: next gold is mine. You won't stand a chance. _

That's more like it. Otabek will see it and laugh for sure. It's better that way.

It's better to keep joking around. Yuri isn't good with sentimentalities: he can't seem to find a live that didn't get bored if him. They've all reminded him he's pretty a thousand times in a thousand way to walk away the next minute. Yuri has wondered more than once if beauty is ask he has to offer. A cute decor to walk down the street, a toy to brag about.

He can't do this right now: kind has him and he rather just bury it all. Otabek said once he's not meant to have a partner; that Love has played him for a lifetime and there are ears he just can't win. It sounds fitting.

Maybe that's why they feel so much alike.

Yuri stretches his legs under the seat before him and looks out the window. Who the fuck cares. Right now he needs to focus on what's important. He has a whole new season to prepare for.

And some well deserved vacations to plan.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a bit worrying because I'm currently starting chapter 9 and just published the third so. If a hiatus happens know that i'm working on it. Please be patient.   
> Also, any and all comments you wanna make, please feel free because this part forward have no beta readers and therefore might be a mess.


	4. Chapter 4

Yuri arrives at noon: he wasn't expecting Otabek to be there with a welcome banner or anything, but after such a journey he was hoping for something else.  The place looked like a minimalist studio apartment taken from the catalogue in the pictures and video chats they shared: calculated lighting, neat spaces, only a water bottle in an odd place or some coat hanging from the chair. This looks nothing like it. Yuri cracks the tension of a 12 hour flight off his neck and already feels some more bubbling up. 

A bachelor's flat. He should have known the moment he stepped in and the smell of enclosure hit him like a slap to the face. There are bottles pulled up against a trash bag no one bothered to take out, dishes in the sink and clothes thrown absentmindedly on the couch. Even the coffee mug is sitting half drunk on the dining table. Yuri dreads to step into the bedroom.

But it was a long journey in an uncomfortable tin can; the bathroom is a must. He deserves to be able to pee without banging his elbows against a stall wall. He abandons his bags near the table and walks to the bathroom door. With his eyes closed, he takes a leak of faith and steps in… 

Well, it's not so bad. It's mostly clean, if you disregard the overflowing clothes hamper in a corner. Yuri didn't even know the guy has that many clothes, but then again, there's the monochrome factor. Otabek probably owns several shirts of every kind in order not to wash them too often. Not only that, he's been saving shit for  _ years:  _ Yuri can see sun stained and tattered fabric around the mess of black that hamper is. Yuri seriously needs to have a word with Otabek, that is frankly shameful. He won't let his friend dress like a fucking hobo. 

He finishes his business and makes a beeline to the couch. He sits and promptly takes a hoodie that ended up underneath him: it's gray already from all the washing and wields a chainsaw and a shotgun crossed over a bloody handprint on the back. Cool. Yuri shrugs his own hoodie to change into Otabek's and unconsciously takes a deep breath: it smells like Otabek's musk after shower and almond scented shampoo. Yuri remembers he liked the smell so much he tried to steal it once but Otabek ended up giving it away. It didn't feel like a victory. Yuri's hair smelled wonderful for weeks after that, though. 

He kicks off his sneakers and props his feet up on the glass coffee table where a variety of remotes face a particular piece of furniture. A wall high blind closet, all dark word and what looks like folding doors. Well, isn't that interesting. He jumps up again, ready to pull in the first door: there's a huge screen behind it, greeted by the biggest speakers Yuri has ever seen in an apartment. At the corner stand shelf upon shelf of DVDs and some books. Yuri knew Otabek was into movies but this is a bit much. There are special editions, collection, the works.  Yuri picks up the one closest to him: there's a girl being sawed in half by some sort of manic magician in a style reminiscent to the 80’s. What the fuck. Time to move on.

Yuri pulls open the other door to find the one collection he knew about: stacks of CDs towers over him, racks of vinyl records shimmer at his feet. There's even a pull out tray where his mixed table ought to be, judging by the wires held at the corners. Of fucking course  _ that _ part of the house is kept cleaned and tidied. He snorts and shakes his head: Otabek and his toys. He shuffles through the vinyl collection but stops mid way. He has no idea how to use the player. What if he fucks up the album? He goes for something he recognizes better: the good ol’ CDs. There's a ton of different titles, arranged somehow by genre, or style, or probably just personal taste. Whatever it is, Yuri just found the one he hasn't listened to in a while: the last time was while playing with Mila's Spotify account. They ended up dancing around the living room like two lunatics, singing their hearts out. And the lyrics are awful, even. 

But his stomach rumbles. Yuri doesn't turn in the music; instead, he checks every corner of the kitchen to look for ingredients. Since he barged into his friend's place, the least he could do is lunch. And some cleaning up, given that Otabek clearly hasn't. Cooking anything in a kitchen like that must be a health hazard. 

He puts his shoes back on quickly; there was a store right around the corner, he saw it on his way, right next to the candy shop on the corner. He remembers it because the shopkeeper lifted his gaze and waved at Yuri as if they knew each other for some reason. The guy might be a figure skating fan: Yuri is pretty big these days after all. Even through his last performance.

Fuck it. He didn't need their pity. He just needs food.

* * *

 

Yuri has been living alone for over a year; if there’s something he can do right is cooking. And specifically piroshkis. He knows Otabek has been raised in a muslim family but isn’t religious; instead he takes every opportunity he gets to eat the pork he couldn’t have when he was a kid. And Yuri has a special place in his heart for Katsudon piroshkis: it just feels like a must. 

The thing is, he’s never learned how to cook for two. There are two full platters of food staring at him from the dining table as he leans on the kitchen counter, drying his hands on a washcloth he took clean out of a linen cabinet. He can’t be completely sure of how often Otabek washes those, after all. 

Fuck, Yuri could feed an army with this.

And he's not even coming home yet. Maybe this whole whole surprise thing was a bad idea. He takes the first pirozhki off the plate with a napkin and plays the CD. The first riffs of  _ Wild Flower  _ echo through the walls and against Yuri's ribcage. That's some damn powerful equipment. He abandons the food at the table to prop the hood over his head and chooses a spot right between the couch and the dining area to move his hips at the sound of the music. He remembers the spot from Otabek's videos of her sister dancing; the floor tiles even feel warm to the touch. He lets the song guide him, his feet moving on their own, his mind competent elsewhere. It's like a huff of fresh air releasing the tension on his aching bones, like a spell giving him the carelessness of youth back, the one he's lost in defeat. Like an embrace from something so much bigger than him. It's only him and the tune all around him; the hushed voices of the neighbors through the walls a faint chorus in between. 

The rumble if the keys in the lock Yuri could have easily imagined. 

“um, hello?” says a voice at his back, a smile hiding in his tone. “I don't think I know you.” 

Yuri turns on his heels to greet a complete stranger. A guy with wild dark hair snaking past his broad shoulders peeking from a sleeveless shirt that has seen better days a good while ago, combined with tattered stained light jeans. He looks like a metalhead fucking hobo and somehow it blends in Otabek's apartment perfectly. Yuri scowls, even when holding his gaze on the bright green eyes of the newcomer becomes somewhat painful. Not because what he might see in Yuri but because there's something terrifying about the way his stare burns with a fierce intensity his grin is clearly trying to hide. The guy is studying him. No, not even: he's waiting for the first step out of line to have his head.

The problem is, Yuri is no good with bullies. “I've been invited. Who the fuck are you?” Yuri evaluates the possibility to say  _ the b word _ but this is Otabek's home. He didn't wanna cause any more trouble than he might already have in order to save his own skin. “How come you have the keys?”

The stage just points at the hallway behind him. “He handed them to me, of course. You're not from around.” He adds matter-of-factly. As if someone really needed a fucking manual to notice Yuri's heavily accented Kazakh. He's learnt the basic conversational skills but that doesn't mean he sounds any less Russian than before.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Yuri starts but his voice died in his throat the moment Otabek pushes the guy away from the doorstep to stare at him, well… stunned is putting it lightly. “Hey.” He rips off him like a stitch. It's the one thing he could manage to let out; it better be enough. 

“Yura.” Otabek barely breaths out. “What are you doing here?” 

Yuri can see the stranger's features change the second he heard his name. The way he smirks as if he knew some life changing secret. He doesn't get to say a thing, instead he only looks at the guy. There's no need for him to be there. 

“He's-” Otabek looks at the stranger and back to Yuri. “He's just leaving.” He finally decides. 

It takes a moment for the guy at his side to get his cue, as he smiles to himself. There's no shred of sorrow in his voice, no she in his demeanor. Just straight up childish curiosity. “Yura, huh?” He muffles a chuckle. “Yeah, just walking him home, I guess.” He shakes his head before retreating, a hand waving as he turn his back and walks away. “Be good, you two. And welcome, Yuri!” He adds for his measure before Otabek steps into the apartment and shuts the door behind him. 

“It's everything okay?” Otabek asks worryingly. His hands haven't yet left the door knob at his back as if he needed the support to stay on his feet.

Otabek sounds concerned, upset even. Something sink in Yuri’s chest. What if he had plans? What if Yuri just came here to fuck with Otabek’s week? Maybe his friend didn't want him like this, not flying in without warning. 

What if that guy was taking Otabek home for a reason? “Look, if you need me to leave there are hotels. I can just-”

“No, Yuri, that’s not- I mean, is everything alright?” Otabek rests his hands on Yuri’s shoulders to make him look up; there’s a shadow over the dark gleam of his stare and Yuri just can’t look away. He hasn’t been able to lately; there’s a rumble in his gut and a strange heat invading him the longer he keeps his gaze. 

Yuri lowers his eyes: he has to in order not to lose his mind and end up randomly kissing his best friend. Things like that can only go south for him. He huffs and slaps Otabek’s hands off of him. “Yeah, all good. Can’t I just fly through to see my friend now? Do I have to have a life crisis for it?” 

“It’s just… World’s and- the thing with....” Otabek physically winces before mentioning his name; neither want to talk about him, the guy doesn’t deserve to be talked about. He deserves to be buried in their memory and never spoken of again. Yuri has given him every minute he could, every span of attention; he’s even started ignoring Otabek for a good week or two until he couldn’t bear the absence anymore. He’s done  _ everything _ for that relationship and the guy still wanted more. 

“Fuck Sasha. I’m here because I want to.” Yuri twist his mouth in disgust. The name used to make his heart flutter; now it just turns to bile in his throat. “Just go wash your hands and sit down. I’m hungry, Beka.” 

“Have-” Otabek glances around at the already set up table; Yuri could swear he can see his mate stop breathing for a second. “Have you been waiting for me? Yura, you could have told me.”

“Nah, it’s not fun that way.” Yuri grins and spreads his arms. “Surprise! I might have made a lot but-” He’s cut short by the thud of Otabek’s body against his, his arms surrounding Yuri’s frame. “Are  _ you  _ alright, Beka?” 

“Yeah.” Otabek whispers into the crook of his neck; Yuri is both mentally thanking and cursing their height difference. Otabek is now short enough to send shivers down Yuri’s spine, his steady breath tickling Yuri’s delicate skin. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad to be here.” Yuri barely notices the words escaping him; he’s more aware of the hungry groan in his stomach that follows after. “Now please get ready to eat or I’ll chew your fucking arm off.”

“Can’t I just-?” Otabek starts, whining, but Yuri knows where this is going. He’s seen enough of the guy’s house to guess.

“Go wash your fucking hands, Altin, or else-”

“ _ I’m going. _ ” Otabek huffs. “I don’t live alone for you to come mother me, Yuri.” He mumbles as he walks away but Yuri can hear the smile in his words. 

“Well, too fucking bad!” Yuri gets to shout before Otabek closes the bathroom door on him. He does that, apparently. 

He also makes Yuri fidgets before sitting at the table and taking a long sip of the beer he found on the fridge; he’s had one already while cooking and he can only describe it as ‘bleh’. But not a bad ‘bleh’, just. 

Just that. Him waiting for his best friend to show up for the lunch he’s made for both of them and having a beer. As friends do. He can’t remember the last time he’s done that with Otabek; he can’t remember  _ if  _ they’ve ever sat together on a house table to eat a homemade meal: it’s always restaurants or snacks Yuri prepares to take and long talks while sitting on the sidewalk of a city neither really knows.

This must be their first proper homely meal together. 

This might be a week or two filled with firsts. A week of discoveries. 

A week Yuri knows will feel too short. But for now he’ll focus on lunch; he can think of all of that later. 

* * *

 

”So, who was that?” Yuri waits for the credits to roll before asking; Otabek's head barely lifts from his shoulder to look at him as he if he didn't notice he was sizing if for the second half of the movie. Yuri's not surprised, really: by the condition of the corners of the box, that DVD must have been fiddled with a thousand times. Otabek must know the dialogues by heart already. 

Otabek tries to rub the exhaustion off his eyes. It doesn't really work. “it's a trilogy, y’know.” He responds flatly, pointing at the other boxes resting on the coffee table. 

“It's not as fun when your host is fast asleep and drooling over you.” Yuri rolls his eyes and leans on the armrest, holding his knees against his chest. “C’mon, you're too tired for another one. We could just talk.” He lowers his gaze for good measure. “We haven't in a while.”

Otabek smiles and Yuri can't quite decide if the shadow upon his eyes is sadness or just sleepiness. He rest his head on the back of the couch, his legs folded underneath him, before speaking. “I didn't wanna be a bother-”

“I know. I-” Yuri starts but a knot in his stomach makes him swallow hard.  _ I wasn't good enough. _ “Sorry.” He changed his tone in the blink of an eye so Otabek can't see him dwelling. “But we can now. So.”

Otabek scrunches his lips in doubt but he earns a kick for his trouble. He chuckles. “He's a friend. A close one, I guess.” 

“Ohh. Close, huh?” Yuri snorts. “Tall, hot and he clearly knew the place. Can't say I didn't see that one coming.” He raise a hand to check on his fingernails. 

“I don't mean- I'm not dating him, Yura, you know I don't do that.” He explains with a sigh. It's not like Yuri  _ asked _ him to defend himself. Still, it feels like a relief to hear it again. Why, he's in no position to figure out. The shit he's been through is still too fresh: he's but about to get ideas with his best friend just for a rebound fuck. “He's a different kind of close. Not like you “

“It's not like I'm here to compete with him, y’know “ Yuri laughs to add absentmindedly. “I know you only have eyes for me, anyways.”

“Yeah. Not quite true, but-” Otabek chuckles at Yuri who just crossed his arms in front of his chest and pouts. “He's not ‘I'll trust him with the keys to my house’ close.”

“He's more ‘I'll fuck him senseless’ close, right?” Yuri snickers as Otabek turns bright red and covers his face. It was so clear. “I just cockblocked you, didn't I?” 

“I rather have you around, any day.” Otabek replies so simply and surely Yuri can't find the words to ending back. It's funny how Otabek can make any silly conversation feel so intimate in a second. 

“Are you flirting with me?” Yuri asks to change the mid back into something lighter. There are forces he prefers not to play with, not right now. 

“If I were you'd notice.” Otabek answers with a confidence worthy of any of their late night talks. Still, his tone changes suddenly. “I hope. I really don't think people notice.” He adds quickly.

“Do you even flirt, man? You have a serious problem with subtlety.” Yuri thinks aloud and laughs; Otabek plays offended but it didn't last too long. He knows Yuri's right. 

“I-” Otabek gets cut off by his own laughter. He covers his face with his hand, takes a deep breath and starts over. “I just offer myself to people and see who bites.” 

“You slut.” Yuri muffles a cackle.

“Oh but I'm an honest one.” Otabek adds as a matter of fact and Yuri can't resist. He laughs until his belly hurts, Otabek's voice echoing his. He makes a pause to regain his breath. “You're taking advantage of me, I'm too tired for this.” he adds in a whisper. 

“You're right. You should go to bed.” Yuri says simply. It takes him a moment to realize he has no idea where is  _ he _ gonna sleep. 

Otabek yawns before looking at his feet, or more like, where his feet rest. “We should open this thing.” He says, tapping the edge of the con with his foot. “I'll bring you some sheets and have it made in a bit.” 

“You go get the stuff; I'll deal with this.” Yuri leaps off the couch to take a good look. They all work the same way, right? Take out the pillows, pull from the backside of the seat out and done. He can do it. If he manages not to miscalculate the length and break the coffee table in the middle of it, it'll be great. Although unlikely. 

Otabek stand up lazily after him. He rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn. The guy's adorable, but Yuri feels the need to check if he can catch him in time if Otabek suddenly falls asleep on his feet. He could, with a bit of luck. “You're a guest, Yuri. You shouldn't.”

“Guests don't have their own set of keys, do they?” He answers back, offended. It's just a pull out couch, he can sort it out. “Go bring me the shit: you're gonna black out at any second.” He commands and Otabek chuckles and salutes before heading to the bedroom with a muttered  _ yessir.  _

He's an idiot. The kind of idiot Yuri can't stop thinking about.

The kind that makes him forget all the shit in the world. 

It's gonna be an interesting vacation. For once. 

But first. Couch. “So, how exactly do you function?” Yuri murmurs to himself. He can do this.

He can do anything as long as Otabek is right there for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Yuri wakes up with the rattle of the coffee maker sputtering loudly. It's not so much loud as the house is noisy: every tiny clatter echoes against the wall and come back twice as bad. Even Otabek's normally ninja steps feel like tapping at the back of his head. And the guy's even wearing socks. 

“What the hell, man? It's early.” Yuri doesn't even bother to lift his face up from the pillow; he's sure the walls will make his voice go through just fine. “Go the fuck back to bed.”

“I have a compromise.” Otabek replies simply as he pours his coffee. It sounds like a damn waterfall. Speaking of, a bathroom break wouldn't be so bad; Yuri sits up to calculate how cold he might feel there. If it's even worth the trouble. He could just go back to bed and wake up at noon when the sun has warmed the bathroom up a bit, right? “You can come too if you're not too tired.” he adds absentmindedly. As if he's not hoping for Yuri to jump off the bed and join him. He's seen Otabek's game enough to know when he wants company but has no good reason to ask. Why the hell is he still so shy Yuri can't understand but he'll even take his friend grocery shopping without thinking it twice, so there isn't really any other answer to give.

“Let me get changed and I'll get back to you.” Yuri winces in anticipation before putting his feet on the bare floor but a delicate warmth envelopes then as he stands up. “nice flat, Altin.” he whispers while heading to the bathroom. “If it'd only not have a hobo living on it, it could actually look nice.” 

“You do sound like my mother.” Otabek chuckles over his mug, his phone in hand. Since when he's been texting? 

“Yeah?” Yuri pushes further. “And how does your father sound like?” 

“‘He's a kid, let him explore.’” Otabek says with a simple gesture of his shoulders. “Sure, that might have been said when I was about to jump off the balcony, but-”

“You were about to do  _ what.”  _ Yuri just has to interrupt. He can't really mean their parents let him do pretty much whatever he pleased, right? The guy might have weird friends and like the night too much but he's anything but a brat. In fact, the first thing they noticed about him is how formal he gets around strangers. That isn't taught in a loose leash. “You can't possibly be serious, man.”

“I mean, that's what they say. I can only remember I used to lead Kam across the fence in between our houses to my room at night.” Otabek barely smiles, reminiscing scenes Yuri can't recognize; but he did know the name.

Kam, the childhood friend. The one and only that went to receive him at the airport. The only one Otabek kept in touch with during his years abroad. The one name that keeps on showing it of nowhere in half their conversations. Whoever that is, Kam is always in the middle.

Not that Yuri cares about it. It's not like he'll forbid Otabek to have other friends, after all. Or close neighbors. Or a childhood sweetheart. Whatever the hell Kam is. 

Yuri forces himself to smirk playfully; he needs to stop overthinking everything. It makes his head hurt. “you had booty calls that early already, huh?” He jokes before picking up his toothbrush. “The slut life found you a bit too soon, huh?.” He shouts out through the closed door.

He chokes on his own spit at the answer, perfectly clear even through the distance. There are thing you just can't misheard. “Oh no, we were gonna marry each other.” 

Yuri doesn't even gets to wash off the string of toothpaste hanging from his lip to his chin before signing the door open. “ _ You _ were gonna  _ marry? _ How could anyone agree to that?” 

Otabek doesn't even react, at least not visibly. He puts his mug in the sink without so much as rinsing it and let his hand fall in the cool counter. “You can still take up the spot if you're  _ that _ jealous.” He chuckles and turns to Yuri, clutching on the counter edge behind him. He got startled: he hasn't seen Yuri standing behind him, still at the bathroom door frame. Yuri can only huffs and laughs to himself: why would he ever met someone who didn't even wash his own cup? Otabek might be the nicest, coolest guy he's meet, but that doesn't make him someone a civilized human being. Behind all that formal and well mannered front there's a savage who refuses to pick up his clothes from the floor with his hands if he can just use his feet to throw it at some furniture. “I don't mean to bother you Yura, but I can't take you out like this.”

“Like what?” Yuri answers but quickly runs to the bathroom mirror. There's a suspicious fade white stain from his lips down to his chin. “It's just fucking toothpaste, asshole!” He shouts but still rubs it off furiously. 

“Tell me it looks like  _ just _ toothpaste.” Otabek jokes and Yuri can physically feel him grinning behind him. He'd get offended if it wasn't because Otabek's grin disarms him completely. 

“Your slut side is bubbling up again.” Yuri adds while checking himself in the bathroom mirror. He doesn't look back at Otabek until he's sure he'd taken the whole thing off; his friend can be a real dick when he wants. “Speaking of, is this one of your catches we're gonna see?” 

“I sure hope so.” Otabek shrugs, taking the chainsaw hoodie from the couch. “I've been going out with him every morning most days of the week.” the thing must be old as fuck because the second Otabek puts it on Yuri can see it's most definitely not his size. Sure, the guy apparently hasn't grown much since his teenage years, but that hoodie wasn't meant to be _ that _ tight around his chest. 

Yuri's breath catches in his throat. He swallows hard in order to push down the knot in his chest, and all the bad ideas that come with it. You don't fool around with your best friend: you don't fuck up a good thing like that. 

Specially not when he's about to introduce you to some lover of his. 

Yuri takes the first jacket he finds on his bag (why did he even brought the Olympic team one? It's like a giant spotlight over his fucking shoulders) and runs to Otabek who's already waiting at the door.

What he didn't expect is Otabek stopping two doors down the hall. “This is it.” 

“You're dating a  _ neighbor _ .” 

“I'm seeing a neighbor.” Otabek answers nonchalantly. “I know he's not quite your type but I promise he's nice. I need you to give him a chance, okay? You'll like him.” He puts a hand on Yuri's shoulder staying straight into his eyes. The guy's serious. It must be important.

“I promise I won't bite.” Yuri snorts, rolling his eyes. Otabek gets on his tiptoes to reach above the door frame. There's a key. “Do you-?”

“Yeah. Everyone's away at this hour. The kids have to be taken to school and all.” Otabek speaks in a monotone as if he's talking about the weather and not that he's intruding into a family's home to see an apparently married man.

There's a bark at the other side as soon as the key turns on the lock. 

Otabek opens the door to a stocky short brindle pitbull, all muscle and the biggest head Yuri has ever seen on a dog; a smile stretching from side to side as he makes an attempt to jump but stays in place on the welcome mat. “Still, Ülken. Be nice.” 

The stuff barely looks at Yuri before whimpering at Otabek again. He gets unquiet when Otabek slips a hand behind the door to reach for something. 

A leash. “Wait, is this-?” He chuckles. “Are you fucking serious?” 

Otabek turns to him the second the dog is tight and secure in the harness and grins. Fuck that grin. It's gonna be the death of Yuri one day. “I am.” He looks at the dog and gets a lick on his face for the trouble. “Ülken, meet Yura.” the mutt take two steps towards Yuri and he takes a step back. That thing might look friendly and all but he seems to be twice as heavy as Yuri is. And ready to jump. “Sit.” Otabek says simply, without a trace of toughness in his tone. “Now shake” and the dog out his paw up for Yuri to grab it.

To this Yuri just has to oblige.”nice to meet you, Ülken.” and the dog barks back. At least he doesn't drool as bad as Makka does. “Now why are you just called 'big’?” 

Otabek laughs and snakes a hand from behind the dog to scratch his chin. Ülken wags his tail so hard Yuri can hear the wind cutting around it. “He's the brother of some toddlers. Not everyone have the imagination to call their pets something like, I don't know. Puma tiger scorpion?”

Yuri let's the dog down in a heartbeat to point accusedly at Otabek. “Oi, don't you even think of speaking ill of Potya.”

Otabek puts his hands up. “I'd never dare.” He chuckles as he puts the key back in place and grabs Ülken's leash. “Well, shall we? You can't just sit on your ass your entire vacations after all.”

Yuri clicks his tongue in annoyance as Otabek walks in front of him. “I'm in perfect physical condition, if you don't fucking mind.”

Otabek turns and brushes his tongue against his lower lip so subtly Yuri's not even sure it happened. “Yeah. I was talking to Ülken, of course.”

“of course you were.” Yuri snaps back.

So Otabek us gonna make him train anyways, huh? Otabek cracks his neck and stretches his back as he guides them to the staircase; the damn hoodie is a bit too short to stay in place and cover that tiny attire stripe of sun kissed skin showing off, too small for even the tattoo to pop out. Why is Yuri's throat feeling so dry all of the sudden he can't quite tell.

He'd better not stay behind though. He quickens his step to reach them; if he doesn't Otabek will surely make another joke about Yuri sitting on his ass. Which he surely wasn't. At all.

They're gonna be some pretty long vacations, or at least, they'll feel like it. But they surely won't be dull.

* * *

 

There is mud on his favorite sneakers. There are paw prints on his pants. His face feels wet with saliva and Yuri can't shake away the breath of the too friendly mutt. Otabek laughed before taking Ülken down from his lap every time they tried to sit somewhere; he most definitely didn't help. 

He's a cheerful thing, but for fuck's sake. Dogs are just so messy. Ülken even slams the front door open as soon as Otabek unlocks it, making a beeline for his water dish. Otabek lets him drink and rest while he hangs the leash in place and locks the door behind them. 

“Dogs are a trainwreck,” Yuri finally breathes out, facing the still closed door of Otabek's apartment. “They're nasty and needy and - excuse me but  _ your friend  _ smiles like an idiot.” He adds for good measure. 

“I know.” Otabek puts a hand on Yuri's shoulder to make him take a step back. “Especially when this adorable dog gets on his lap to ask for cuddles.” 

The key turns only once. They didn't leave it unlocked, he's certain of it.

He huffs and shakes Otabek's hand off, walking in ahead, just in case. He was expecting Otabek's friend to be there, like a Bond villain, caressing a mean looking cat on a high chair. He had the keys after all. Instead, he's received with the smell of something baking and a girl sitting on the kitchen counter, browsing on her phone. 

Otabek didn't seem fazed by it. “You don't know what went down exactly where you're sitting, Inzhu.”

The girl looks up from the screen the second she hears her name;  a couple of wine red strands of hair get loose from the bun tied on the back of her head with what looks like pens. Yuri needs to learn how to do that. “I hope I don't need to worry.” She works a brow and suddenly her defying expression looks exactly like her brother's. 

They looked alike in the Instagram posts but you can clearly see the resemblance now. 

Otabek doesn't even flinch. “You hope.” 

She takes a second to analyze her options and suddenly her expression turns into disgust. “Basti, babe, I love you but you're disturbing.” She says nonchalantly as she steps down the counter. It's only then when her gaze falls on Yuri. “I should have known you had visitors the moment I stepped into an apartment  _ not _ smelling like medical waste and sweat. Hello.” 

She offers her hand to Yuri who shakes it still in awe. The girl is a good three inches taller than her brother and her stare is somehow much more penetrating. She looks fierce even in a long shirt of a band Yuri can't recognize and shorts. She has fucking  _ pens  _ sticking out of her hair and yet Yuri is afraid to speak up for some reason. 

She reacts faster than he can. “Yuri, right? I've heard a lot about you.” She smiles an unspoken truce. “Here's where I could throw in a joke or two but I'm afraid it was actually only nice things.” She gestures at Otabek with her head before turning back. “But I bet he must have left some details out.”

“Maybe he didn't consider those bad things.” Yuri shrugs and puts his hand back in his pockets, faking innocence.

“Yeah, he's quirky like that.” she finally laughs and turns with an exaggerated pout to her brother. “How come everytime I come I have to make my own snacks? Where's your chocolate?”

Otabek leans in the edge of the dining table, still keeping his monotone. “You know I don't eat chocolate.” 

“But  _ I do. _ That's so selfish of you.” Otabek rolls his eyes instead of replying as Inzhu takes a kitchen cloth. “Yuri, make some tea, would you? The cake is already done. You can eat this, right?” 

Yuri rapidly gets to work; he already investigated the whole kitchen the day he arrived. He knows exactly where everything is. “You came here early in the morning to bake for your brother? Is that something you guys do?” 

“It's something she does.” Otabek replies quickly. “Yura, let me help you.” He stands up but Yuri stops him raising a finger at his back, without even turning.

“No, let me.” he sets the mugs on the table one by one while Inzhu arranges the meal on a platter. He lifts his gaze towards Otabek and realizes they're standing a bit too close to each other. He still shakes his awkwardness off with a mischievous grin. “After all, you're taking me to lunch, aren't you?” 

“Is that a date?” Otabek lets his teeth brush again the edge of his lower lip, a daring shadow darkening his eyes. Yuri's breath catches in his throat for a second; that gesture, that tone was alluring enough when they were thousand of miles away. Now it's simply maddening. 

But he has to stay in place. It's his best friend, damnit. How fast could all go to shit if Yuri steps out of place? And with an audience, no less. He chuckles and shuffles away to take a seat besides Otabek. “How sad it'd be if I had to  _ ask you _ to take me out?” 

“That depends. Dinner or shotgun?” Otabek answers without skipping a beat. He's so incredibly witty sometimes. When he decides to be a dick.

“Can you  _ get _ a shotgun?” Inzhu chimes in before setting her mouth full of cake. She didn't even get a serving, she just cuts a piece of one of the portions with her fingers. It's outstanding how Otabek can act like a human being if they were both raised like that. Or maybe it's just her. 

Anyways, Yuri takes it as his cue and serves a piece for himself. “Given his friends all over, I wouldn't doubt it.” He replies quickly and snorts. The guy with the two inch mohawk in the Montreal gig last year had a proper Irish army jacket; he could surely get some shady supplies from somewhere. That guy was creepy as it gets. He didn't know the definition of personal space and talked way too loud for someone standing so close. Yuri tastes the meal and his frown vanishes in a second, along with the whole serving on his plate. “This is really good, Inzhu! How come you can do this and your brother can't do anything non-microwavable?” 

Yuri can feel Otabek frowning besides him; he doesn’t even need to turn around to see it. “What’s this quarrel people have with microwaves?” Otabek pouts and crosses his arms in front of his chest like a little child. Inzhu just laughs a low unashamed cackle. She smiles so wide so easily it’s almost unthinkable they’re related. Yuri remembers the first time he made Otabek laugh. But not the polite chuckle over their first tea together in Barcelona, but the growing giggle he lets out like a whirlwind building up inside of him.  Otabek looked so bright then, in the middle of the night on some back alley in Montreal. They were talking about his time in Canada and Yuri was showing how would Viktor sound when he figured out the popsicles he wanted to try were just snow with maple syrup in. The over-exaggerated twist of disgust on his face made Otabek stop in his tracks to clutch at his aching sides, trying to catch his breath. Yuri stayed away then: Otabek was such a vision he was even scared of interfering. 

“Normally, I would agree, but-” Inzhu shrugs and looks away, taking a few loose strands of hair out of her eyes. “He made this family dinner some weeks after he came back, when he settled back in.” She pauses to look at Otabek who's quietly brushing his lower lip. Yuri knows the gesture; he does that when he gets uncomfortable as an attempt to cover his face. “I've never, in my life, tasted anything like that smoked glazed salmon.” 

“That sounds fancy. Especially for you.” Yuri grins at Otabek and earns a kick to his chair for his trouble. “So what will you be making  _ me _ for lunch, then?” He tries, grinning that shit eating smile that gets him so many free drinks at bars. So far, it has only pulled out a few dirty comments and awkward glances from Otabek though, and the first never happened in person. 

In fact, the glint in Otabek's eyes and the way he leans towards Yuri is the closest thing to flirting he's done all week so far. “It'd be definitely too fancy for you. You still eat like a toddler.” Otabek murmurs while his finger brushes Yuri’s lip ever so softly to gets the crumbs off. 

Yuri’s breath catches in his throat, as if the whole atmosphere around them became so dense it rested heavy on their chests. He feels a tingling in his spine, the involuntary tremor of someone who wants to move but doesn’t dare. They stay completely quiet for what feels like an eternity.

“Well, talk about third-wheeling.” Inzhu says to herself, a bit too loud. Otabek practically jumps back in his seat and Yuri turns every shade of red in the span of two seconds. It's not like he was expecting something to happen; they just got a bit carried away, that's all. “So, if you're taking your  _ friend _ -” Inzhu makes the smallest change on her tone, so subtle he wouldn't have picked it up if it weren't because he knows Otabek's code already. “And you already have plans for lunch, how about dinner? I'll be free and probably bored. I’d love to drag my little brother.” she smirks, her gaze fixed on Yuri. He shuffles in his place.

“You do know you have some skeletons in the closet yourself, right?” Otabek threatens over his tea. Yuri thinks he could see him flinch a second before.

“The thing is, darling-” Inzhu starts without so much as a change in her calm demeanor. “I don't give a fuck about what your boy here thinks of me.” She gestures with her head at Yuri but keeps staring at her brother. “Can you say the same?”

“Are all Altins as weird as you two?” Yuri jokes to break the tension in the air and gets a grin out of her instantly.

“Worse, kiddo. We're part of the last generation. The previous one is a trainwreck.” She assured him with a smug smile barely hidden by her mug. 

“I gotta say, they sound interesting.” Yuri was exciting to meet Otabek's circle but he's never once thought about his actual childhood. Naked baby pictures and old embarrassing stories sound like a great way to spend the night. “What do you think, Beka?”

“He calls you Beka?” Inzhu giggles. “Cute. And creepy.”

“Yeah, just-” Otabek starts but decides not to flatter his sister's game with an answer. Instead he turns to Yuri. “Sounds shameful and dangerous, really.” He makes the smallest of pauses just because; Yuri knows the answer without even asking the question. “I'm in.” 

“Good, then, I'm gonna go make the arrangements and, you know-” Inzhu steps up to wash her mug in a second before taking a purse Yuri hadn't noticed before from the back of a chair. “I'll stop interrupting - whatever you two were doing.” Otabek seems about to protest when she makes a beeline for the door. “Well, see you tonight!” She slams the door before he can say a thing and suddenly there's a dead silence in the room.

It feels like an elephant in the room. Whatever it is they were doing. Yuri remembers snuggling a dog against his will sitting on the grass, that's for sure, and wanting to take a shower. He remembers Otabek's eyes on his and the ringing sensation of his fingers in Yuri's mouth. The second that felt like lifetimes where they just got lost in each other. The silence, the world stopping in its tracks around them. 

Someone needs to break the silence: it feels like a blade dangling over their heads. One wrong step and they're done for. Whatever  _ they _ are, anyways. 

“I'm gonna take a shower.” Yuri jumps off his seat to get his bag. Otabek puts his feet up on the table and looks at Yuri huffing while he searched for a particular shirt. He can't quite see the one Yuri picks, though, it that it's one he just chose from Otabek’s like at the side of the couch. “You can take your time and think about what you're gonna make me for lunch. You have to one up your sister now.” 

Yuri closes the bathroom door behind him when he hears Otabek's muffled voice coming from the other side. “May I use the microwave?”

Yuri can't help but burst into laughter. The too-cool-for-color stoic hero is nothing but a teenage bachelor that has to be told to make his own bed and do his own laundry. And Yuri thought he had everything so figured out by now, that he had the clarity Yuri himself doesn't. He's just a big child. They're alike in that as well. 

He catches his breath before shouting back. “Make a proper meal, you lazy fuck!” 

“I might be lazy,” Yuri feels the voice coming right from the other side of the door, as If Otabek closed the distance in between them only to keep on arguing with him. “But there are things I take very seriously.”

“Yeah, is that so?” It almost feels too familiar. A magnetism pulling them together; a barrier in between them to make them feel safe. Yuri can't stop himself. “Why don't you come here and show me?”

He hears an awkward chuckle and steps moving away. “Don't play with fire, Yura.” Otabek laughs and Yuri turns to the mirror only to realize he was pouting. 

Don't play with fire. That's good advice. The thing is, Yuri wants to let it all burn; he wants to feel consumed, alive again. And Otabek seems to have the key to open every lock. Unknowingly, he can play Yuri like a fiddle and Yuri loves the tunes he pulls. He just wonders about every melody they could make together.

He decides to pass from the hot water tap for now just in case. He'll need it.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s weird; Yuri doesn’t feel like a guest. There’s a girl he just met sitting in front of him, laughing her heart out over some creepy gorey movie her and her brother knew every dialogue of, and he doesn’t feel like an outcast. His best friend sitting by his side, tears rolling down his cheeks for giggling too hard. And Yuri joins them soon enough: the movie was definitely something. He wouldn’t say good, but something. There were weird puffy faced aliens vomiting on a plate and feeding it to people, for fuck’s sake. How sick is that? And some marked hatred over sheep, too. 

Yet they’ve seen it before and he didn't; he still feels like a part of it all, like a puzzle piece made specially to fit in that spot, right in front of the screen with Otabek by his side, holding Yuri’s legs over his lap, and Inzhu sitting on the floor below them. After weeks of wallowing, months of looking for affection in all the wrong places, he feels right. At ease. Too comfortable, even. “Well, that was weird as  fuck.”

“I know, I love it.” Otabek comments after trying to catch his breath. He still chuckles afterwards for good measure and keeps his arms around his torso as he leans on the armrest. Yuri has seen him smile so wide, so confidently only a few times before: you never know who’s trying to sneak up on you on tourist sightings around a competition  or official hotel hallways. And he’s never been too keen on paparazzi. 

“It can get weirder, hun, just say the word.” Inzhu steps in, lifting a hand lazily in the air to drop it back down. “I can’t assure you I’ll  be awake by the end of it, but- there are weirder, that’s for sure.”

“I know: you’ll love this one.” Otabek suddenly  sits up but his sister grips him by his knees to push him back down when he tries to  get up. “What?” He snaps at her, more whiny than actually pissed. 

“First, I need you to do something for me.” She explains, as calm as someone who can’t stop yawning could be. “I need my night time supplies.” Otabek starts to protest but she cuts him in in no time. “You get to see your lovely, it’s not _ that  _ bad. I mean, you could always share me yours.”  Otabek raises a brow and purse his lip but doesn’t say a word. It’s settled, then. “Then go.” she turns back against the couch stretching her arms over her head. “It’s not like you’re in the loss anyways.” 

Otabek sighs as he gets up, retrieving some plain black hoodie from the mess at the back of the couch. Yuri tried to arrange the swirl of black fabric at some point, but it ended up as the wrinkled mess it was again. Somehow Otabek can still figure out what piece of clothing is which in the blink of an eye; it must be the experience. “I can’t remember you paying me back any of those trips.” Yuri knows that’s just the resentment talking: paying for some late night snacks, whatever those are, isn’t gonna make Otabek broke for sure. Specially when he could avoid it all by sharing his own but still refuses. One could say he’s a bad brother but Yuri knows it’s for Inzhu not to learn where he keeps them. They can vanish so easily if she knew. 

“I can’t remember you paying me back for dinner.” she  replies back a bit too cheerful. She chuckles before adding. “Don’t you wanna see the love of your life again? You haven’t been there in a while.” 

Yuri feels a chill running down his spine; he shrugs it off before anyone can notice. The phrase sounds as phony as any other sibling joke but somehow it makes him pout anyways. He makes sure no one gets to see his discomfort, just in case he needs to explain something himself can’t understand. “I’ll go, just get off my back, will you?” Otabek turn to Yuri and pulls him out of his horrible daydreaming. “Are you coming, Yura? Or you’ll stay with the viper here?” 

What’s with the names in this family? 

“Ow, are you jealous I’m so good at doing bad, babe? You can still learn a trick or two, you know.” Inzhu jokes, winking at his brother who only huffs in response.  They’re both waiting for Yuri, but he’s got something to get off his chest before they move on with this charade. 

“What’s with the whole naming thing, Beka? Do you always do that?” Otabek is about to answer but Yuri cuts him short with a sudden gesture of his hand. “And why no one calls you Beka, after all?”  

“Because Beka is my father and it’s weird.” He answers a bit too sudden.  He shakes his head. “not that it bothers me if you do , but-”

“We came from a tight neighbourhood. They called him Junior.” Inzhu explains while a tiny smirk forms on her lips. “He never liked it.” she sighs and shrugs. “Then they heard and decided Basti was good too, and much more original, so.” 

“Why Basti? What does it mean?” Yuri sits up on his knees, eager as he'd’ never admit to be. He’s certain he’s seen Otabek flinch at the question but that won’t stop him. “You never told me  _ that  _ name before.” 

“It’s just a childhood thing, Yura, there’s no need to-” Otabek reacts quick but his sister is even faster.

“I’m so glad you asked.” she turns to prop her elbow on the couch cushions as if it was a bar, readying herself for a bit of storytelling, Otabek always said that was their father’s forte. “There’s this -  _ thing _ ,” she starts, eyeing at her brother who’s clearly avoiding their eyes now,” called Al Barsty, a central asian myth. We’ve grown with myths read to us like fairytales, you see. But when I was a kid I couldn’t pronounce so many strong syllables; I could get to Basti instead. And he just reminded me so much of it.” 

“And why is that, exactly?” yuri tries to hide the grin that’s starting to form; he hasn’t heard the story yet, but Otabek’s reaction tells him it must be embarrassing as hell. Otherwise he’d have told Yuri already. “What was that thing?” 

Otabek huffs loudly before answering, visibly annoyed. “It’s a fucking nightmare goblin, Yuri. Please stop asking.” Yuri can’t help but cackle but still covers his mouth to stop himself. It doesn’t work very well. 

“You see, when he was tiny-a baby I mean, not now tiny.” Inzhu starts; Yuri can’t take his eyes off Otabek who mouths a clear  _ fuck off _ to her but she’s not one to step out easily. “He used to always end up sleeping on you. Literally. Al Barsti was supposed to be this tiny monster that would crawl up your window and sit on your chest to give you nightmares; that’s how parents made kids close theirs at night. And Otabek, well- you always ended up waking up suddenly in the middle of the night because you couldn’t breathe. Only to realize there was a toddler clinging to your throat and lying down all over your chest. It didn’t even matter how  big the bed was- he needed to clutch someone like a giant teddy bear or else he’d fall off the bed and start crying.” Otabek is covering his face with his hands now;the tip of his ears are bright red. Isn’t that cute? Inzhu giggles. “I’ve heard he still does it, so the name fits him well.” 

“I do  _ not,” _ Otabek starts sternly,”cry in my sleep.” 

Yuri can’t handle it anymore. Laugh starts bubbling up out of him as he clutches his sides and presses his head to his now propped up knees. Otabek the bad boy Altin, too cool for dress jackets, too badass for cabs, is a cuddler. A pathological one, even; he apparently can’t sleep without hugging something, preferably alive and warm. Maybe that’s why he get insomnia so often. Yuri can hear himself wheezing after every cackle; he’s gonna die of laughter and it’s all gonna be because of Otabek and his cuteness. It’s fucking ridiculous. 

“Fuck, i’m leaving.” Yuri can hear Otabek sighs as he shuffles to the door. He forces himself up, his hands still around his stomach to ease the pain . “Are you coming or not?”

“Yes!” Yuri jumps around the back of the couch and runs to him in a second, regretting it a minute later. Fuck, he feels like he has been training for three days straight. “Don’t make me hug that bitchiness out of you, Basti.” he adds with a smirk and Otabek looks at him in awe, playing offended. 

“Fuck. You. Yuri.” He puts emphasis in every word only to turn around and open the front door without a second look. “You betray me like this. In my own home.” He shakes his head and heads towards the stairs. Why is it always the fucking stairs?

“You’re too cute when you pretend to be pissed.” Yuri lets out without giving a second thought. Otabek chuckling before him makes his heart skipped a beat; he can’t be certain if that’s excitemente or sheer terror. 

“I’m too cute, huh?” Otabek turns to him right at the edge of the staircase. He even has the nerve to eye him up and down before Yuri can find anything to say.

“Does a little common flattery goes to your head so quickly? No one would guess you’re an international celebrity, man.” He chuckles quickly in order to take the weight off his words. 

“Celebrity? I’m a figure skater.” Otabek rolls his eyes at Yuri only to avoid his gaze the next second, focusing on some really interesting piece of railing. “And flattery usually goes down before it goes up, to be honest.”

It takes Yuri a moment to understand. It takes him even less to turn a hundred shades of red in the span of a second. That clever fucker, he even gives Yuri a moment to answer when the blond can’t even find his own voice through the astonishment. 

Is Otabek actually flirting with him? Was that a chance to make a move Yuri just missed?

“You know what,” Otabek cuts the silence like a sharp blade and Yuri feels the slash within his bones. “Let’s just go.” 

The walk to the store right at the corner feels like a two month long safari; it must be the longest time they spent with each other in this awkward silence. 

Fuck. Who would have known. The fastest shit talker in Russia can’t even reply properly to straight up flirting. And not even from people he feels safe with. Yuri must be the biggest fucking loser in the city right now; at least that’s what it feels like, as he glares at every passerby just to make sure they can’t see his shame. 

Is this how he has to meet Otabek’s so called ‘love of his life’? 

Yuri silently prays for the Earth to open up and swallow him whole before they get to reach the shop.

* * *

 

 

Yuri feels like they've been walking for miles on end due to the never ending silence, the crack opened in between the mere inches separating him from Otabek. Instead, they stop suddenly at the end of the block, right in front of a brightly lit candy shop with bars covering the windows. There's a sliding window in the middle still uncovered where Yuuri can see clearly a petite girl practically dancing around to music too loud for a week night with a broom in her hands. She's not cleaning shit like that, that's for sure. 

Still, he doesn't comment on it.

“Does dinner come with a show now?” Otabek says in a monotone and she turns around as if she was just struck by lightning, the broomstick clutched against her chest. She runs to the back of the counter to retrieve the keys and almost trips on her feet on her way back. She fiddles on the lock before she manages to open the front door. “Aren't you supposed to _ not _ open this door at night under any circumstances?” 

“Hubby has his privileges.” she answers sharply, her back straight to try and look him in the eye. She waits for Yuri to code the door behind them before jumping into Otabek's arms and clutching his middle with her legs like a tiny green haired koala. “You took so long!” She whines into the crook of his shoulder. 

“I know, I've been doing stuff.” He practically murmurs and Yuri has to make an effort to understand the words. It's like he's just part of the landscape; he's having the time of his fucking life. 

What a great vacation. Damnit. 

The girl straightens up on Otabek's embrace. “Don't call him that. It's mean.” she scolds and playfully pats his shoulder. 

“Kam, this is-” Otabek turns to Yuri but she jumps off before he gets to finish the phrase. She offers her hand it to Yuri. 

“Yuri Plisetsky. I've heard a lot about you.” He shakes her hand trying to put two and two together and failing spectacularly. With the exhaustion, the amount of be information to process and the ambiguously awkward silence he's completely lost. 

He still tries to erase the dumbfounded expression off his face but by the twitch if Otabek's lips he can guess he was already spotted. “Everyone has, apparently.” He comments with a huff. 

She smiles. She’s pretty, he'll give her that. And so cheerful it's hard not to smile back. “Well, you're a big deal, of course we have. I'm Kam.” She gestures at Otabek with her head without letting go of Yuri's hand. “His wife.” 

Yuri heard it before; he knows. Still, the word holds a weight heavy enough to sink his heart deep into his chest enough for him to feel the echo rattling against his bones as if it were miles away. He swallows hard to keep himself from embracing his middle just in case it tries to jump out. He looks for a polite response but his tongue feels like a ton of bricks and dry as sandpaper. He goes for a tight awkward smile instead. It's the best he can do.

“Are you here to keep me company?” The girl barely regards Yuri's existence besides her as she turns to Otabek again, arms around his neck. 

“I'm here for chocolate.” he says quickly as she lets go to inspect the brightly wrapped candy on display. “Any. Whatever she likes. You choose.” 

“You don't know what your sister likes?” Yuri mocks, shrugging of the waits sensation Kam's touch left in him. “I have to say, I'm kinda disappointed, Beka.”

“I know you like it as black as it comes.” Otabek replies without missing a beat. “She's not that picky.” 

Yuri looks for a clever comeback but he can only think on the way Kam looks at him wearily through the rejection of one of the cooler’s door before picking up something to hand to Otabek. She wasn't actually expecting beka _ not _ to know what Yuri likes, right? After all, they've all heard about him. 

“Take this one; it's new.” Kam places the package in Otabek's hand only to turn to a glass cabinet in the corner of the store. “Smokes?” 

Otabek doesn't look up from the chocolate on his hands, inspecting it as if it were rocket science. “She didn't say- sure, just in case.” He turns to Yuri and offers it to him. “It's got caramel in it.” 

“ _ In _ it?” Yuri takes the family sized bar and indeed, there's a clear picture on the wrapper where caramel is oozing from the cut chocolate bar. “That sounds, well, sweet.  _ Really _ sweet.”

“Yeah, I thought it would fit you.” Otabek answers back and Yuri feels the temperature raise a hundred degrees. Could someone maybe crack open a window, out just open the door so he can buy his face in the sand where no one can see him turn bright red at the silliest line ever? He's about to stutter something about discretion and wives but Otabek reacts faster. “Although it's probably still not sweet enough to tone down that bitchy temper of yours.” 

“Well, here I thought you were been nice for once. Fuck you too, Altin.” Yuri snaps back and pockets the chocolate. He deserves it for his trouble; it'll have to be Otabek's treat. And Otabek didn't seem fazed by it: he pays for it and a pack of cigarettes and refuses to take his change. That is something Yuri never thought he'd love to see: Otabek and Kam exchange quick sweet good nights, pet names and all, and she proceeds to let them out. Yuri hesitates in whether to take her hand it just wave goodbye out what but Kam has other plans. She hugs him as if they were child best friends and Yuri freezes on the spot. 

“Have a great night, boys, and be nice! Don't do anything the neighbors can notice and call the cops on you.” She says as she pulls away and places her hand on her hips. “Let me know if you like that one, or which candy are you into next time. I wanna know all about you! My hubby's best friends are my special guests, always.” She comes into a hug again only to whisper in Yuri's ear. “Don't let him eat too much: he won't sleep.” Yuri nods and she leaves him to close the door behind them and wave goodbye as they walk away.

That girl is weird. Cute weird, maybe, but still. She's the kind of people one would never imagine around Otabek: perky and loud and in-your-face. And if Yuri wouldn't know any better, even feisty; that back there felt like a bake off the wills to get Otabek's attention, which wasn't in any of them to start with. It's like he's taken the key if then both to put them together to see if they'd maul each other to death or end up friends. 

Whatever just happen there was confusing; Yuri just needs to come back and make this evening as short as he can manage. He could really use some rest. 

He has to remember to keep Otabek off the sweets tonight for that to happen. If he only could. 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri tried, he really did, but it turns out nervous eating is a thing and a pretty distracting one for that matter. Even though they didn't even get to see another film and Inzhu left soon enough, Yuri still finds himself tossing around on the sofa bed. That chocolate was really sweet; he's starting to feel nauseous but refuses to get up and wake Otabek up. He couldn't even tell if the guy is even sleeping. 

But Yuri's cellphone can: it lights up out of nowhere with an incoming text. The kind of texts Yuri's used to by now. 

 

  * __Awake?__



 

Yuri types. Erases. Maybe ‘are you fucking kidding me’ is a bit harsh for a three am text. He goes for a simple  _ didn't wanna wake u _ instead. 

 

  * __I'm always awake.__



 

The response arrived in a fraction of a second: Otabek must be glued to his phone, bored in bed. As the next line. Weird, Otabek doesn't double text. Unless there's something he's not quite sure he should say. 

 

  * __Quick question. Are you comfortable back there?__



 

Well, what the fuck does that mean? Is Otabek actually asking if his couch is good enough? They've shared tiny battered hotel beds multiple times before. Slim futons. Yuri could sleep anywhere, that's no problem. Just not right now.

 

  * __By yourself?__



 

Otabek tries again and Yuri chuckles; he stops himself as soon as he realizes he could be heard easily. It's not like he wants Otabek to retreat; he needs to know what's going on now. Although this silly texting is too ridiculous to go on.

“Are you scared of the dark and want me to keep you company?” Yuri shouts at the dark as he walks up to the open bedroom door. 

Is it always open? 

Otabek smiles by himself, propped up against the headboard, one hand clutching the still lit cellphone against the covers and the other brushing his hair back lazily. He looks exhausted enough not to notice Yuri staring, so he tries again. “I hope you're somehow dressed under that.”

At that he earns himself a drowsy smile. “Come and find out.” Otabek replies in a cheeky tone as he leaves his phone by the bedside table only to free his hand to yawn against it. 

“I thought you couldn't sleep.” Yuri reaches out to get under the covers Otabek spreads up for him. 

He's wearing underwear. Good. There's at least that. “I do want to. I just-” Otabek makes a wide gesture in the air, as if he was about to explain the world to him, but he yawns again. “-can't. It's like your brain is an engine with no control console, always working no matter the gritting of the cogs.” 

“What’s even gotten you so worried? The season hasn't started yet.” Yuri says but promptly flinches.  _ He _ should be worried: vacations are nice and all but he'll be coming back to the wreckage he dates call his day-to-day life. All alone in an apartment meant for two, a picture on a drawer of his dresser he refuses to confess it's there,a shameful performance Yakov had to pin onto a ‘personal imbalance’ for the press. Otabek should be just fine; he'd got everything anyone could ever need. So much love. And still.

“It's not  _ one _ thing, it's just-” Otabek stumbles upon his words; he huffs and runs a hand across Yuri's middle to pull him closer, hiding in the crook of Yuri's neck. Yuri can feel the warmth of Otabek's lips pressed on him as the words flow, as if Otabek was even ashamed of them. “It feels like everything is gonna crash and burn the second I turn around. As if something's waiting for me around the corner to take it all away in a heartbeat.” Yuri only brushes Otabek's shaved scalp softly: he knows exactly how that feels.

“You do know you built all of this, right?” Yuri pulls Otabek's hair to make him look up. “All the people around you, they're here because of you. Every last medal you got you earned in his faith, bled for them.” He brushes Otabek's hair off his eyes and let his thumb absentmindedly follow the line of his jaw before it gets too intimate for Yuri: somewhere in the back of his mind his good judgement if screaming at him to get back to his own bed, but being this close to Otabek feels almost like home. He texts his hand away from Otabek's face and over his shoulder, as if it would make a difference. “ No one can take that away from you. You made it all happen. You deserve it.” 

“I don't think I do.” Otabek answers rapidly but hesitates a moment after. “ No, I know I do. But I still don't think I do.” He's going in circles; he can't seem the find the right weird so he huffs in annoyance. “You deserve better too, you worked your ass out for it and yet you ended up paired with dickheads that fuck up your career- I'm sorry, I just-” he tried to hide his face behind his hand in shame but yawns and end up rubbing the sleep of his eyes. “If you don't have it all figured out, why should I? You deserve the world and your still stuck here with me.” He flinches when Yuri's hand slaps him softly in the back of his head, as if he were a kid misbehaving. 

 

“Stuck? I'm here because I want to, you absolute fuck.” Yuri starts in all seriousness but a tiny smile makes way across his looks in no time. “And love, and success and shit aren't exclusive. Life is not a competition.” 

“We live off competing since when we were kids, Yuri.”

Yuri grabs Otabek's chin in his hand and pulls him closer before he could even notice what he's doing. “ _ Still. _ You deserved the gold nonetheless. You could very much enjoy it too. You deserve the world too, bitch, don't ever think otherwise.” 

Otabek grins, letting his gaze as soon as Yuri releases him. He hides back onto the crook of Yuri's neck for good measure. Yuri flinches at the sudden delicate touch. “Who knew you could be so sweet?”

“It pisses me off so much when you put yourself down like that.” Yuri reverts into his classic Sharp tone: the lovey-dovey feeling in the air will make him say something he'll regret. “That's my job.” 

“You're gonna get fired if you keep doing it so poorly then.” Otabek answers in a fraction of a second only to settle against his chest. Otabek's fingers start drawing circles on Yuri's back so softly Yuri can feel his eyes finally closing. “I like you here.” He breathes out before the silence of the night falls on them.

Yuri feels exhausted too; somehow the warmth of having Otabek clung to him pushes all the awkwardness away, all the doubts. After all, Otabek had been Yuri's Haven for years. In every fall, every misstep, every fight. And they fought: everyone does. It was mostly because of a guy. Even always, probably. Otabek gets way too defensive of him, no one is ever good enough for Yuri. He's just worried, he says, but Yuri blamed it on jealousy and never listened. And Otabek was right. Each and every time, he was right. Yuri's a hard one to deal with, ‘it's not just a matter of love’, he'd say. 

Yuri would deny it to the end of days but he's always believed in love. That he'd get the one some day, the one that doesn't need polishing, that fits right in like a puzzle piece made specially to complete him. Otabek said once that's not healthy, once he laughed. They even argued about it: ‘you don't  _ need _ anyone, you're perfect and whole the way you are. ‘ Otabek would say and Yuri would shout he never understand if he hasn't been in love. It'd stop there. 

Otabek had a girlfriend once, that much Yuri knows. He never talked about it. 

It doesn't really feel relevant now, curling onto Yuri, holding him tight. Love will save you, that much Yuri is sure of. 

He never thought on what kind of love. 

But while Otabek is around, it hardly even matters, doesn't it? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoever guesses the movie wins a reply (?


	7. Chapter 7

Yuri barely stirs in bed when he feels the death grip on his middle. Otabek has been giving him close all night as if he was a teddy bear and Yuri's back cracks in every move. He takes Otabek's arms to pull him off but Otabek's sleep, although rare, is really deep. He won't wake up.

Yuri remembers his secret weapon. It's the only option he has to get free before his spine snaps; Otabek can be a menace when he's asleep and feels cuddly.  Yuri leans on him to brush Otabek's sides softly with the tip of his fingers. Otabek stirs and groans but doesn't move. Yuri tried again, this time without stopping after the first sign of movement. Otabek goes from a soft 'no’ whined on Yuri's chest to fit trusting him to curling on himself and turning down to clutch in his pillow. 

Apparently, once he falls asleep, he won't get back up. Maybe that's why he doesn't sleep much. It must be hard to get somewhere if you can't manage to unglue yourself from your bed.

It's kinda cute though. The way Otabek presses his face against the fabric, snoring softly; his features clean and relaxed as his hands aren't. It'd be adorable if it wouldn't feel like that pillow is about to burst at any moment. And it's really creepy to stare as Yuri is doing. Specially if Otabek notices. Yuri won't risk it: he tiptoes to the bathroom for a quick wash up and returns in a minute. He could just stay in the living room but then he'd might feel lonely. Or what's worse, he'd be giving Otabek the opportunity to jump him. He won't take his chances. 

Yuri stretches his legs across the floorboards, sinking on the stiffness of sleep drifts away from his body, slowly. From his hip to his toes as he presses his chest to the floor, legs wide open behind him. He keeps his breathing slow and steady, but something freaks in the silence of the room. Yuri looks up to see Otabek rubbing his eye, barely awake, cross-legged on the bed. 

“What time is it?” Otabek fights had to keep his eyes open; he looks like he's about to fall back down in the mattress in any minute. 

“Your cellphone is right next to you.” Yuri replies shortly before turning to one of his legs to rest his forehead against it. He can hear Otabek walking past him; he doesn't bother checking. A moment later he shifts to the other leg as Otabek gets back in the room to plop in front of him on the floor. 

“Teach me.” 

“You can't teach uniqueness, Beka.” Yuri replies, minding the rhythm of his breath. That's definitely sounds better than ‘what the fuck are you even talking about’, that's for sure.

“I have no interest in acquiring that shitty attitude of yours, don't worry.” Yuri huffs against his thigh to not break his focus. He takes his time sitting back up before smiling at Otabek.

So he wants to learn, huh?

“Sure, I can teach you.” he finally replies, circling Otabek until he's right at his back. “But you'll have to follow me.” Otabek doesn't even turn to him at this, just nods. Yuri's hand lines on the air for a second before reaching out to brush Otabek's shoulder. He barely stirs.

He doesn't feel scared.

“ready?” Yuri asks, unsure of whose question is that to answer. 

Otabek doesn't seem to notice. “Yes sir.” He responds in a playful tone. 

Maybe Yuri is just thinking too much. He should just focus on what's in front of him. He lets his hand fall on Otabek's shoulders. “Okay, now spread your legs.”

“Already?” Otabek earns himself a slap to his arm for that.

“Just do it.” Yuri kneels behind him to press Otabek's tighs flat with his palms. They don't go to far down but Yuri hold them low enough to feel the resistance. Palms stretched out, no weird moves; don't get distracted by the way his loose shorts curl up, Plisetsky. Just stop staring. 

“I understand you're focused and all but could you let go already?  _ It fucking hurts. _ ” Yuri suddenly pulls out as soon as he heard Otabek. He blacked out for a moment; it wasn't enough to actually hurt Otabek but he did felt responsible now. He has to redeem himself. “Maybe this was just a bad idea-”

“No, wait.” Yuri crawls back in front of Otabek who's rubbing his inner thighs absentmindedly. “I'll go slower.” there were exercises he did with Mila, he recalls. There were more focused on each other's skills than a certain milestone; those could be easier. He did in front of Otabek, legs stretched out in front of him. “Put your feet against mine. Give me your hands.” 

“Are you sure about this?” Otabek obeys despite the tone of hesitation in his voice. Yuri only ignores it while he pushes himself against his legs, encouraging Otabek to pull his hands further away. Yuri sighs: there's a heat slowly riding from his middle back up, pushing out the remnants of drowsiness off him. Fuck coffee, this is so much more effective. Otabek's hands pressing his help a lot too; like a ground cable, keeping him always on his toes. 

Yuri loosens his grip on Otabek and sits back up. He exhaled once more before speaking. “Your turn.” Otabek barely had the chance to stare before Yuri pulls his hands to hurry him. “It’s not that bad. From the waist up, come on.” Otabek chuckles before following Yuri's instructions for the obvious rigidness of his muscles. “Don't bend your knees. Go slow.” Yuri holds Otabek's arms firm enough for him to not break posture until he feels Otabek's body finally relaxing, his breath becoming more steady. “Ok, up.” he accompanies Otabek loosening the pressure on his arms but by bit. Otabek breaths out and finally looks back at him. “Wasn't that terrible, was it?” 

“You weren't, no.” Otabek replies a bit too fast. Well, fuck you too. He laughs when he noticed Yuri's scowl. “It's kinda fun when you don't have to do it all alone.”

He's got a point there. Yuri is definitely enjoying Otabek's laughter and the cheeky commentary. He's trained in too much silence lately, with the cheesy couple out of the rink and every new skater steering at him as if he were a vision. Yuri's is goddamned good, and fucking beautiful, he knows that perfectly well, but he's also human and that's no way to treat someone. The rink feels every time stranger to him. If it weren't for Yakov's yelling… 

“It definitely beats solo practice.” He lets out without even noticing. 

“Do you have solo sessions often?” Otabek asks absentmindedly while mimicking Yuri's moves. 

“Well, yeah, clearly! I-” Yuri pauses for a bit to realize what Otabek meant. “Oh, fuck you!” He punches Otabek playfully on his arm as Otabek giggles. The bastard.

“Oh, poor baby, how can I help?” Otabek taunts and a thousand thoughts run through Yuri's mind in a fraction of a second. He's got a few ideas. None he can say without flustering like a twelve year old with a crush.  _ He's your friend Plisetsky, get a grip _ . 

“Maybe make an effort, for once.” Yuri forces Otabek's knees down; his skin feels like summertime in Yuri's palms. It's ridiculous. Why is he lingering after every little touch? They have shared a bed before, how does this feel so awkward? 

Otabek still giggles through the look of pain Yuri knows is fake. 

It's definitely more fun with the right company. 

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek has hurried Yuri into getting dressed the moment they finished the routine Yuri may had overdone. He's fine, only a bit annoyed at the rush, but he can't be certain Otabek is. What if he's planning some form of a comeback? 

He shouldn't; he did ask for Yuri's help, after all. But pettiness is a strong willed bitch. 

They jump on the bike without so much as breakfast and Otabek passes back a duffel bag for Yuri to carry. “What the hell is this?” He doesn't wanna be a bad guest but the are forces bigger than his skill for bullshitting his way through life and probably the writer of all is hunger. He's young, he's an athlete: he likes to eat in the mornings. Not being someone's maid. 

“You're in the back; I need you to carry it.” Otabek answers simply. Yuri can feel the plastic of whatever is in there through the fabric. He didn't  bring his skates and these feel very much like them. Although it's not the bag Otabek wears in competition. They shouldn't be.

“You're taking me out for breakfast, right?” Yuri talks back, notoriously annoyed. “Whatever we do, we're eating first.”

“you're not gonna die for waiting a bit, Yura.” Otabek rolls his eyes at him through the side mirror, while turning on the engine. He chuckles as Yuri cruises his arms front of his chest. “Yeah, I'm starving too. But we're going to a place my coach can't say shit about what we have.”

“ Why would he say anything? Are you two attached by the hip or something?” 

“He's always there. It's unnerving. But you'll see that.” Otabek pulls Yuri's hand to rest it on his thigh and intertwine their fingers. “But today is only about you and me.” He adds with a mockingly sweet tone.

Yuri lingers a second too long before retreating his hand back to slap Otabek's shoulder. “It would've sound romantic if it wasn't because you're a cynical dickhead.” 

He still circles his arms around Otabek's waist as the bike moves swiftly through the traffic. He can't hear Otabek's laughter over the sound of car horns and engines but he can feel it bubbling against his body. 

Yuri takes his chance at the first red light gone green to press his chest closer against Otabek's back. 

It's the thing about sharing beds, private spaces. It never feels enough. Moreover, Yuri finds himself craving for intimacy Everytime they pull apart for just a moment. 

He has to every chance he gets before the week is over. He can deal with the consequences after.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri has expected a tiny Pinterest worthy cafeteria in the suburbs, a nice resto by the water or something like that; he should know better by now. They stop at a back alley in the busiest part of town, litter and dead leaves scattering in the breeze around the food carts in the streets. Fucking food carts: classy. Now Yuri knows exactly why Otabek is single. 

“Nice: food poisoning for breakfast.”  Yuri jokes as he hops down the bike and follows Otabek. 

Otabek doesn't even turn. “I didn't have you for such a delicate flower. Three of each, please.” He pays quickly and signals Yuri come closer. “Want some coffee or something?” 

“I'll have whatever you're having.” Yuri eyes the place: there's a huge brick wall at they with a sort of ramp towards the floor where people seem to sit to their feet or bring their children together. Which is not of a manner of speaking since there's just them, another couple that doesn't seem too happy to there and a girl there looks a bit young to be herding a quartet of noisy brats. He decides sit and wait for his friend to finish living up their deluxe breakfast of the day, still carrying the duffle bag with him. He's fiddling with the zipper by the time Otabek sits by him and hands him a warm disposable cup. Of course it had to be coffee, even though chocolate pumped and sweetened. Yuri still knows Otabek is taking his straight black. “Is there meat in those?” the paper bag in Otabek's hand smell hot oil but even that makes Yuri's belly roar. If it's mildly edible he'll have it, no questions asked. 

“Some do.” Otabek shifts closer, letting the bag rest on his legs while he takes one fried pastry out to hand over to Yuri. “Just try it: if it tastes too much like food poisoning you can have the other ones.” 

“What's in the other ones?” Yuri asks before taking a mouthful of food. It is meat alright: soft and simply flavored with onion and spices within a flaky fried dough. It's actually really good, but also too hot to eating with Yuri's eagerness. He rapidly downs it with coffee. “Not to sound whiny but, meat and coffee? This is awesome, actually, but coffee?” He seems to compare both items in his hands by alternatively moving his hand in front of him. He knows for a fact Otabek eats whatever he can find for breakfast and this must no exception to the rule. 

“Meat goes with everything, Yura.” Otabek answers before gulping the last of his first dumpling. “In case of doubt about a filling or plate or something, assume there's something dead on it.” he laughs before taking a sip off his cup. Noted, although he's seen some weird giant sausage shit on the market in his way to the city he rather not have anywhere closer  _ ever _ . That thing definitely did not look dead enough. 

“How are you not buffed the fuck up yet then?” Yuri wonders as he reaches for the paper bag; Otabek only holds it in place and let's Yuri shuffle for another pastry. Isn't there a move like that involving popcorn? “what are the not meat ones? Non animal meat or-”

“Or.” Otabek waits Yuri to saint eyes at him. Yuri takes a bite gets a mouthful of soft, ricotta like cheese. Definitely more coffee-appropiate. 

“so vegans just come to die then.” Yuri assumes rapidly, taking another bite. Street food or not, it tastes wonderfully. “Is tourist food actually made  _ from _ tourists too bland to survive?” He jokes as Otabek is about to drink up, making him choke on his coffee. Yuri fails to stop himself from cackling while Otabek shifts from trying to breathe and laugh at the same time. Both their drinks end up more on the floor and their shoes than in the cup, so they decide to abandon them by the edge of the wall where more list was pulled up underneath a waste bin filled to the brim. 

“There was a vegan that had a thing for me back in the States. She got over it pretty quickly, though.” Otabek tells matter-of-factly and Yuri laughs again. 

“I can imagine. ‘what can I take you out to eat that doesn't involve animal suffering?’. 'i can just stay home.’” Yuri acts out the whole conversation, emphasizing Otabek's monotone on it against a cheerful female voice. 

Otabek laughs before nodding. “It kind of happened  _ exactly _ like that, though.” He brushes the longer strands of his hair behind his ear before grinning again, turning his eyes to Yuri. “I was never really good at handling that kind of attention.” 

“So you don't date because you suck at it, gotcha.” Yuri says while taking another dumpling, now cold, off the bag. And luckily it's a cheese one. “These are actually really good.” he adds with his mouth full. 

“I can see that.” Otabek answers with a half smile; he pats the bottom of Yuri's jaw softly to make him shut his mouth and Yuri covers himself with his hand. In his defense, he was really hungry. Otabek takes his from Yuri's lap to whip it over his shoulder. “Shall we?”

Yuri doesn't hesitate: he takes the hand offered to him in a fraction of a second and follows Otabek into the warehouse like building they were porched against. He barely turns to see Otabek abandon the final pastry on a concrete bench before holding the door open for him. 

Lousy date and all, he's still a gentleman. Go figure.

Yuri takes a step in and freezes on the spot. There's chatter, the loud cutting sound of wheels against cement, ramps and a half pipe here and there and, for fuck’s sake, fucking heating. 

He snaps it of it only when he noticed Otabek is not behind him anymore, but back at a bar asking for something he can't hear over the ambient sound. He walks to him, still in awe. 

“size 40, right?” Otabek doesn't even turn to him. The back the bar looks familiar somehow, assist from the fact that if Yuuko would be working here too, she would surely keep it more organized. 

Otabek Is renting skates for him. Roller skates. As in, those Yuri hasn't worn since primary School. 

“42.” Otabek turns to him quirking a brow. “Got a problem with that, shorty?” 

Otabek says nothing as he shifts back to receive the skates. “It's just not fucking fair.” Yuri can still hear him muster under his breath. Look at that, the little one is jealous; isn't that cute? 

He huffs loudly when Otabek suddenly holds the well worn skates against his chest. They’re scratched in every way possible but the safety clips seem to close, so there's that. And Yuri has brought his newer thick socks; they might help in covering up the old plastic boot edges. Yuri barely had the chance to inspect them when he looks up to see Otabek already three steps away. “Are you gonna stay there all morning?” Otabek shouts back at him. Yuri can hear the smile in his voice.

“Isn't there a-” Yuri runs to him only to stop dead on his tracks. He's not scared,  _ definitely _ not, but he's too certain he can jump off a ramp tall as those without breaking something. And those are a lot of something's actually needs to work. If Lilia finds out his first unsupervised vacation ended up on a cast, Yuri will end up with an electronic ankle brace for the rest of his life. “Is there a  _ flatter _ place than, well, this?”

Otabek turns to hold his stare trying to hide a playful smile on his lips. “Are you scared, Ice Tiger?” He says in a clear English, and Yuri doesn't need to look around to feel people's eyes on him. They might haven't recognized them at first sight but they know his name. Well, his nickname. It still counts. 

Yuri lowers his shoulders and huffs. Anything he says can and will be used against him after all. Specially if he counts the already shitty performance he had last season. “Just follow me.” Otabek signals for him to stay close; the place is even larger than it looks in the outside even though it's mostly empty at this early in the morning. Yuri feels the soft, inviting touch around his palm and responds before he notices. He looks down to see Otabek out of nowhere decided to take his hand. “It's not fun to beat you when you’ re in no condition to compete in the first place.” Otabek's smirk waters down for a second. “I'm not here to hurt you.” He clarifies, rubbing the to of Yuri's hand with his thumb delicately. 

“But you're here to mother me.” Yuri said, releasing his own hand to walk to a bench near a wide straight area, luckily empty. He takes a deep breath to get ready to do the one thing he trusted he'll never do again.  _ Wearing rentals. _

“How come I'll always end up being the mother and never the knight?” Otabek whined as he did heavily besides him, the duffle bag conveniently in between them. Yuri knows he should make a joke or two, break the weight on his chest that send to have sit there for years, ever since he first ride on Otabek's bike. The hero and the fairy. He was a knight, Yuri's, for quite some time. Some days it feels like nothing has changed during all that time. He's still that unreachable that somehow appears or the shadows to snatch Yuri away, to show him a new world. A new way to see the world. Everything looks different with someone by your hand. 

Yuri can't find a single clever pun to make to break free of this sudden need to be held. To have a knight in shining armor to defend him from his own demons. This spot feels so much desolated than before for some reason. 

“And don't say it's the height.” Otabek adds for good measure. Almost as if he noticed Yuri stumbling upon his words, fidgeting on the started edge of his skate. 

“I mean, pony raising can't be a really big thing in Kazakhstan. Can't blame them.” Yuri snaps back before he can think about it. Make it casual, make it trivial and the doubt will go away. Just bury it back down. “Now,  _ mountain goats. _ That's an idea.” 

Otabek gets up quickly to turn and kick the bench that's luckily fixed to the floor. Yuri doesn't feel it move but the sudden reaction still makes him clench to edge of his seat instead of fasting the last of his buckles. “Are you gonna stay here and talk or you'll finally join me?”Otabek says before kicking himself away from Yuri and into the middle of the rink. Well, it feels like a rink. It could be called that too, right? 

“This is weird.” Yuri let's he first thing he can think of slip off his tongue in order to block the mental image that's himself standing up,  staring at his feet as if they were suddenly enticed by some giant squid. He tries a couple of steps and the place become suffocating: he feels burning lights on his back, a thousand eyes following him. He sheds off his hoodie and throws it in the corner of the seat where Otabek left his open bag. With any luck they won't get robbed the minute both of them turn their backs. Yuri lifts a foot and puts it back down, leaning his weight on it. “they're not as bad as I thought.” He realizes.

“They're not great either.” Otabek replies sharply, sliding to his side to throw away his own jacket over the pile of discarded clothing. “It's gonna hurt tomorrow.” Yuri turns to find a hand extended towards him. He reacts instinctively, taking Otabek's hand in his. He always does, after all. “I'd have lent you mine, but they wouldn't fit you.” 

“I don't really remember this.” Yuri moved forward as he would on ice but he feels somehow weighted down by his own skates; the surface refuses him. He loses balance for a second but Otabek's grip tightens on him. 

He won't fall. 

“Think of it as the ice.” Otabek holds him by his elbows to make sure he's stable on his feet before pushing backwards. “It won't give anything away; you'll have to take it.” 

“I've never felt threatened by the ice, y'know.” Yuri answers with a click of his tongue. The times didn't skating as a kid were probably the happiest of his childhood; he wouldn't have to see his Dedushka counting change to pay for their groceries, or skipping dinner. He wouldn't have to wonder what would it be like to have somehow always around, always waiting for you. His grandfather was a working man, he couldn't have asked for more. In the ice none of it matters: it never asks and always gives back. In the ice Yuri has never felt scared. Competitions, however, are a different matter, but what he feels under his feet is reassurance, always there for him, even when he falls. 

“Well, lucky you.” Otabek breathes out before running off to the adjacent wall. “I kinda like it when it gets tough.” He smirks before speeding straight towards Yuri with no warning whatsoever. Yuri only gets enough time to duck and cover his head as the grinding of wheels suddenly falls silent for a second before clashing back against the floor at the other side. 

The bastard just jumped over him. He literally used Yuri as a fucking cone. 

“do I look like a prop to you?” He snarls at Otabek, who puts a hand on his chin as if studying the answer. “Try it again and I'll snap your fucking leg in half.” Yuri insists.

At least he gets a giggle it off that, although that was far from the answer he was going for. Also, he has absolutely no idea what to hope for with a guy like that, but one thing is certain: Otabek does not feel threatened. Ever. By anyone. “Are you mad at me, Yuri?” Otabek softens his time he skates closer, rescuing it for Yuri's hand, but Yuri his him as he cries his arms front of him. He barely stumbles in the process: that's progress. 

“Let's do this: I'll let you do the honors this time.”  _ But I don't know shit about this _ , Yuri wants to reply Otabek doesn't give him the chance. “ Have you ever tried a death spiral?” 

“The pair move?” Yuri quirks a brow at him. He only skates solo and that's it. He's not the greatest team player and he's moved past trying to fix it. “I don't do pairs, man; you know that.”

“Well, yeah, but-” Otabek hesitates but shakes whatever thought he had off his mind. “nevermind. Let me teach you.” He turns serious for a moment while showing Yuri how to position himself on the floor. “ You have to think it like this: if you lose balance, your partner will too. You're the pillar here, you need to be steady and confident.” 

“So I'm the guy, right?” Yuri interrupts while sliding forward slowly, knees bent and one foot in front of the other. Steady, calm, confident. Or else everything will go wrong. 

“You're taller, so yeah.” Otabek chuckles only to add. “I thought that went without saying.” He skates to the wall with a hand on his back to signal Yuri to follow. “We also need a certain momentum, of course.”

Steady, calm, confident, yet fast.

Yuri practically kisses the wall. It was the worn brakes, of course, but still. Confidence is a fickle bitch. “Don't say anything.” He says before turning to the open space before them. “So what now?  _ And focus _ .” 

The last part Otabek has troubles with: Yuri can notice him biting his lip in order not to him like a school kid. “Okay.” He starts to stay his voice. The asshole wants to laugh so bad. “See the edge of the bench? We'll skate about that far and then I'll circle you. You only have to hold me; one foot in front of the other.” Otabek takes Yuri's hand and readies himself, knees barely bent. “Are you in?”

Yuri doesn't have to think it twice. They've shared together, even though sporadically, for what feels like ages. If he has to fall on his ass in a public space he wouldn't trust anyone else to pick him up again. If he were to want to stay on the ground, no matter what lays for him ahead, he knows there's only one who can raise him to his feet. The one who always could. Despite life, and distance, despite codes that sometimes feel one-sided. “Always.” He holds Otabek in a tight grip. 

Otabek softly pulls his hands as a heads up and they take off; Yuri sees his finish line of the corner of his eye and stops accelerating, turning to Otabek who switches hands. He circles Yuri to drop slowly closer to the floor. His eyes never leave Yuri's. It's mesmerizing how Otabek seems to study Yuri, to look for a clue of something deeper, something buried within. The world comes to a halt around then; Yuri can't hear nothing but their rollerblades against the rough cement. His arm lines up perfectly with Otabek's body, his chest barely moving up and down as slow motion. His skin pricks as he feels Otabek's breath on him, as if the breeze kissing him was another; his palms feel awkward and sweaty.

Oh shit, his palms are sweaty. 

The moment he realizes Otabek slips off completely, sliding almost against the damned seat, while the momentum pushes Yuri back and ass first onto the floor. It's most definitely  _ not at all _ like ice skating. He huffs for good measure but Otabek starts laughing , laying flat on the floor. Yuri can't help himself either: hearing Otabek happy is contagious. 

“We were going so well.” Otabek squeezes out in between cackles. “What happened?”

“I told you I've never done it before.” Yuri tries to sound offended, crossed arms over his chest and all, but it's hard to keep your composite when your friend looking at you upside down from the ground. “How come you have?” 

Otabek pivots and rests his weight on his arms. “I had the ice, a partner. Why not?” He shrugs. “I'm surprised you didn't, having your people around and all-”

“Mila is still _ really _ into lifting people in the air. Without their consent, specially.” Yuri says with a twitch of his mouth only to complain. He has every right, too; Otabek knows nothing about skating around Mila. The girl always gets what she wants eventually. This particular battle she hasn't won yet. “ And I'm taller than her now! But she's somehow really resilient.” 

“Then it's perhaps for the best. My friend, she's about my height- it didn't quite work.” Otabek recalls but doesn't explain much. Yuri give him a minute before hunching over to be able to kick him in the arm softly. That's a message as clear as any. “You know how there should be a height gap in between the dancers? Well, there's a reason for that. You can probably pull off the stunts anyways but it'll take some extra work.” 

“The pig could lift Viktor up.” Yuri says as a matter of fact. If Yuuri can make it, he can do it too. He won't stay behind. 

The chuckles wake him up from his daydreaming: he could do it, lifting Otabek up in his arms, feeling Otabek's steady breath against Yuri's chest, his stare fixed and yet warm, inviting. He could.

If only Otabek wouldn't find it so miserably funny. “do you think we can go for it - do you wanna slow dance with me?” His tone starts sounding like mockery but it shifts and lowers. If Yuri didn't know any better, he'd say that's an honest invitation. But then again, Yuri hasn't picked up one sign in days; not on time at least.

“if you want something with me, you'll have to earn it.” Yuri plays the bitch card: it always works and for the stupidest of reasons. It's not that Otabek had a weakness for it; he's just really bad at refusing a challenge. Yuri flicks his hair back before giving out his conditions. Otabek will meet any, interested or not, just to show he can. “You'll have to pick the most kick-ass song in existence; it has to make me want to do this even if we could be expelled from the competition for it.” He exaggerates only to pick up Otabek's interest. 

“I can do that.” Otabek says nonchalantly, “I did before.” he adds in a monotone. 

Well, that didn't work much. “You did, but then we prepared something for me. I know what I can do, but you -you'll have to show your merit.” Yuri crosses his extended legs as a way to show he's the one taking the shots. He quirks a brow and lifts his chin just for good measure. 

Otabek smirks slowly, dressing his legs close to his body. “ Is that so? You'll check if I'm worthy of having a dance with you?” He hops suddenly, rubbing his feet underneath him in order to lift himself up from the floor; he stretches up slowly, a playful smile dancing in his lips. “Fine, I'll play.” He kicks Yuri's skates for him to bend his legs closer. “But it'll be in my stage. My rules.” He starts gliding slowly around Yuri. “And my rules say you don't move from there.” 

So Yuri will get a one on one demonstration just for him. Otabek's style in all his splendor: he was never a dancer, after all. He's a street artist, a plethora of worlds melting into each other. That's the one reason why no one could get to define him: his ways are so deeply unique they amaze the most stone faced dinosaurs in the jury. And he's gotten good, too, exceptionally so. He’d be lying if he said he wasn't eager to have the chance to skate with him again. If he said he wasn't shifting in his spot, impatiently waiting for anything, everything, Otabek has to offer. Everything Otabek has always given. With any minimal piece of his art, there's a piece of his heart attached. If there's something Otabek has always been constant with is honesty, despite everything. 

Yuri can't wait to see what Otabek's sharing has to say this time. 

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri's speechless. Which is mostly due to Otabek not only knowing but also pulling off cleanly backflips and footwork Yuri has barely seen in actual inline competitions, and they were hardly that amazing. 

Then again, they weren't probably as shocking because they weren't using  _ him _ as a prop. It feels different when you look up and notice the exact moment when your friend loosens the grip on his skates to prepare his landing happens right above you. The guy has earned his duet fair and square, although Yuri can't still say if he actually meant it. They've prepared a program in one night but that was when they were practically new to the Senior league. They'll have to think of something never seen before and that will require some more time than what they have in their hands right now. 

Yuri might also be grinning to himself every time he turns to Otabek sitting besides him on the floor because he's still trying to catch his break from falling on his ass so much. He pulled off a thing or two though: he did a 180° spin a couple of times without falling. He tried a lot more than a couple of times though. Cement feel much harder than the ice, that's out of the question. Yuri just hopes not to come back home with any visible bruising or Yakov will shout his ear off. 

He downs the last of the energy drink Otabek bought for him and tried to get up but his skates slip from underneath him. Well, now what? 

“Need help?” Yuri can see Otabek is trying his best not to laugh but  the sly smile still creeps up. He offers his hand to Yuri to help him up, although Yuri still struggles and ends up slouching over his friend. “You’re okay there?”

“No?” Yuri huffs. How can Otabek make this look so effortlessly cool and Yuri can’t lift his ass off the ground? It’s not fair. He’s a world gold medalist, for fuck’s sake. “Just help take these things off.” He turns to Otabek who seems to be  _ really fucking amused.  _  “And stop laughing.”

“I didn’t say anything-”

“I can see it in you, Altin.” Yuri still argues as they approach the bench. 

“So,” Otabek starts as Yuri’s too busy to focus in anything else than the skates that refuse to come undone. Damn rentals. “We could go home next if you want.”

“Let’s do whatever, you’re the boss. I just really need my shoes.” He replies nonchalantly as he straights up. “And a shower. Urgently.”

“ _ Home  _ home I mean.” Yuri doesn’t need to look to guess Otabek is fidgeting, focusing his eyes on whatever far away enough. He always does that when he tries to be mysterious. “To my parents’.”

“Dude.” Yuri turns to  him. “I’d love to, I really do, but I seriously need that shower”

“See, the thing is, mom is-” Otabek takes his time to choose the right words, as if he’s trying to avoid something. He  must have had people over to his family home before, right? People do that sort of thing. Yuri does it all the time; he loves his Dedushka to meet the important people in his life. After all Yuri’s family is anything but big; he’s found parents and sibling and love in place where blood couldn’t reach. “She’s not used to visitors. She’ll just make a big deal and it’s awkward to say the least.”

“So you’d rather I show up smelling like a street dog instead of, I don’t know, a human been that has access to functioning plumbing?” He sounds irritated; he realizes it the second he finishes the sentence, but if there’s something he cannot stand is to bring the wrong impression to strangers. At least, not for a good reason. 

And it’s Otabek’s family: he  _ wants _ them to like him. No one likes a filthy mutt on their doorstep. But Viktor, possibly. 

“I’m using their bathroom.” Otabek shrugs. “It’s bigger and more comfortable than mine anyways.” 

Yuri knows for a fact that Otabek never struggled with money. Even so, he’s felt a bit embarrassed a couple of times as to how reckless he is about spending money on Yuri when he always thinks about his Dedushka’s expenses first. He still blushes furiously when someone mentions the silver bracelet: it’s so luxurious Yuri even doubts it fits him. 

What of they notice he doesn’t really fit in?

“Whatever you think works is fine by me, man. I’ll follow.” He finally gives in. 

“I’m making you uncomfortable, ain’t I?” Otabek responds practically in a whisper. To be honest, Yuri is pretty good at doing that on his own; it’s not like he needed help. He find himself overthinking stuff too often lately. He could blame it on the media, or the Angels. 

Or the way Sasha always found a way to twist his words.

Fuck that guy. Yuri promised he wouldn’t think about him. He’s had enough. 

“No, I am. You’re right. I’m making this too complicated- let’s just go.”

“We still need to pay for those.” Otabek gestures at the skates on the floor.  Yuri barely eyes them and all his falls start hurting again. He needs to remember never to try on rollerskates again. He’s done for the ice, and that’s it. 

“If we do, can we set them on fire?” Yuri quirks his mouth in palpable disgust. He deserves the retribution.

Otabek chuckles as he sets his duffel over his shoulder. “I mean  _ we could _ , but there’s a lot of plastic on that. Wouldn’t recommend.”

“Have you burn a lot of shit that you’re an expert  now?”

“Just trust me.” Otabek laughs and Yuri knows for a fact he’s joking, but still squints at him for good measure. 

He takes a deep breath  before getting up and ready. It’s family time  now, huh? He hasn’t had that one in a while. Not ever, if it’s supposed to include anyone other than  his grandpa. And Otabek’s circle seems to be bigger than he’s ever imagined. 

He swallows hard and puts on his best mischievous grin. He’s not scared at all, not than anyone can tell, and that’s the important part. 

He takes Otabek’s lead and hopes for the best. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is both my reward and my punishment for having finished writing chapter 12 but not having copied it into the doc yet (it's still on my notebook) so, enjoy!   
> Remember this will be a two part story, so after this there will be a brief pause so I can start bringing the next bit.   
> Any comment is always appreciated, of course, and they help me write so much (also, any paralel stories? i'm happy to cooperate)

**Author's Note:**

> Short chapter to ease our way in. please do let me know what you feel about it: comments feed the writing hands. The more, the faster it goes.  
> Thanks a lot for reading!!


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